


On Your Marks, Get Set, Bake!

by floosilver8



Series: GCBS in Schitt's Creek [1]
Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - The Great British Bake Off Fusion, Anal Sex, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Canon elements are included, Coming Out, Developing Relationship, First Time, Great Canadian Baking Show crossover, M/M, Mostly Fluff, Oral Sex, POV Alternating, Patrick Brewer is a baker, Slow Burn, impure thoughts, now a little crush turned into a like, your favorite secondary characters make appearances
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-30
Updated: 2020-11-05
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:00:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 60,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26707861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/floosilver8/pseuds/floosilver8
Summary: The Great Canadian Baking Show comes to Schitt's Creek, hosted by David and Alexis Rose. Patrick, still fresh from leaving his old life behind, enters the contest and gets more than he bargained for.Will Patrick get used to baking in front of people? In front of cameras? Who will go out? Who will be crowned the ultimate Star Baker?Rated E for later chapters.
Relationships: Patrick Brewer/David Rose
Series: GCBS in Schitt's Creek [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2055129
Comments: 86
Kudos: 220





	1. Pre-Production

**Author's Note:**

> I was craving something wholesome and this little plot formed.
> 
> The Roses haven't lost their money but some canonical personal growth has occurred regardless. I haven't seen much of GCBS so it's some guess work based on GBBO. Trying not to let the OC's get in the way of things, they're just supposed to be background. Yes, some of them are references to other Canadian shows.

Patrick stood in his landlord’s kitchen for the umpteenth time that day, fidgety as hell. He had been working on perfecting a basic chocolate soufflé and Ray was very gracious to stay out of the way when Patrick was in one of his “moods.” And Ray only ever had encouraging things to say when he became the taste tester. However, Ray had no poker face what-so-ever and Patrick wouldn’t feel calm until Ray smiled and gave him a thumbs up in the middle of chewing – which was more often than not, Patrick noticed.

“I can’t believe I let you talk me into signing up for this,” Patrick called over his shoulder.

“You’re a master, Patrick Brewer!” Ray called back from the living room. “Don’t get discouraged! Third time is definitely going to be the charm, I can smell it.”

Patrick laughed at the little joke. Maybe he was right. The other two soufflés had not been that bad. Just a little low. The flavor had apparently always been spot-on.

“I hope you’re right,” Patrick whispered to himself, crouching in front of the oven and peering in. He should really clean this thing. It was getting harder and harder to determine the color of his bakes to make sure they weren’t suddenly catching. This one seemed fine and still had six more minutes at least.

He stood quickly and turned his attention instead to finish cleaning up after himself. The baby blue packet of information had arrived yesterday morning and was still sitting on his desk – in what would be a dining room in a normal house. But in Ray’s house it was an office and there was a tiny dining table in the kitchen instead.

Letting his mind wander as he tidied, Patrick thought back to three months ago when Ray had used his “good camera” and ring light to film Patrick’s audition video. This was all Ray’s idea and Patrick would never let him forget it. It had taken maybe four tries to get the video just right.

Three weeks later, Patrick had received a call from the producers. _The call_. The call letting him know that he was one of the final ten bakers on the Great Canadian Baking Show. No need for further interviews, they wanted him. Holy shit. The feeling of joy and disbelief washed over him again, like it was just yesterday. He was really doing this. Oh, shit he had to do this.

The dread-spiral swooped him up suddenly and he had to sit down to keep from fainting. Patrick was naturally very competitive at many things and that had served him well in prepping for auditioning but now it also made him remember that this wasn't a team sport. He only had himself. He could fail. He had to be _on camera_ and bake. In front of _people_. And a lot of people would watch it on TV later. His mom and dad would watch. _Other_ people he knew would watch. Oh, crap. He could really, really fail. He could be eliminated before the first challenge was even over. What if he really messed up? What if none of his bakes worked out?!

*DING*

The sound of the kitchen timer broke through the fog of doubt and shocked him enough to refocus. Glancing at the oven, he saw a perfectly risen soufflé waiting to be served. Breathing a sigh of semi-relief, he donned his oven mitts and gingerly lifted it out of the oven. He held his breath until it was carefully placed on the table and hadn’t fallen.

“Wheeeeewwww,” he breathed out finally. “She’s ready!” he called to Ray.

As they cut into it and ate, Patrick’s confidence grew. Maybe he could do this. Maybe he wouldn’t totally fail. If he could just stay focused on the bake. Follow the directions and his instincts. That’s all he had to do. And it was okay if he went out first. It would be okay whenever he was eliminated because this was just for fun. He’d meet some fellow Canadian bakers and just have fun.

It was that attitude that helped him through the next few weeks. He practiced obscure recipes just to test and prepare himself for the technical challenges. He _actually read_ the paragraph upon paragraphs of text before a recipe on several food blogs. Some of them were daft but others informative.

The strange and amazing thing was that GCBS had decided to film in Schitt’s Creek this year. They were trying to uplift rural communities or something. So, Patrick didn’t really have to worry about being totally out of his element. The production team rolled into town two weeks before shooting was slated to begin. The farm they took over was half-way between Elmdale and the center of town, so the crew all stayed in the slightly nicer Elmdale Inn, rather than Stevie’s motel. According to the packet of info he had received, Patrick and the other nine contestants would be lodging in an apartment building also just outside of the center of town. He was familiar with its brick façade but had never been inside before, or really known anyone who lived there.

So, all of a sudden it was one day before filming started and he was lugging his packed bags into his temporary home less than ten minutes after meeting a production assistant who handed him the keys outside. They would be filming four out of seven days a week for four weeks and would be allowed out of the apartment only if a member of the production team was with them.

As a perpetual rule-follower, Patrick had consulted the list of things he was not allowed to bring about ten times, just for security. He brought his guitar for…well, he wasn’t sure why. When he was in university and stressed about some course, he’d occasionally just strum it absently, not really playing. It tended to help him think better. He hadn’t written any songs in ages.

The apartment was definitely a step up from the little room he had been renting at Ray’s. That was supposed to be temporary too, but he had been doing that for almost a year now. Everything about his stay in Schitt’s Creek was supposed to be temporary. It was a total whim to land there after…after leaving his fiancée and entire family. But it was a nice town, with good people, and he had gotten comfortable.

After setting out a few things in the bedroom, Patrick looked over the Welcome packet on the counter and took stock of the kitchen. There were basics already in the cabinets and fridge, and a list of production team members to text if he needed anything else. In the folder he noticed a Who’s-Who type of list with photos and bios of the key personnel – the ten contestants, the two hosts, the two judges, a list of assistants, producers, and directors.

The other contestants were from all over Canada. He recognized a few hometowns as being in Ontario, and other major cities like Vancouver and Montreal, but most of the others he was grateful for the provinces being included.

\----

David set his suitcase in between the twin beds in his room. The exposed bricks on the wall behind were painted teal and probably needed a good scrubbing and touch up. The motel was…okay. It didn’t have any star rating to speak of but that was _okay_. He wasn’t the big name in the family. Not even the second big name. Fuck, was he even the third?! He didn’t automatically expect to be treated like royalty simply because he was going to be hosting a national television program.

The production assistant (Brenda. He’d have to keep track of a lot of names now.) who had welcomed them made sure he and Alexis had her number so she could get them anything they wanted day or night.

“Are they paying you enough for that?!” David asked, not expecting a genuine answer.

Brenda nodded and smiled. She was even staying at the motel too, as were other members of the production team who weren’t at the Elmdale Inn.

Taking stock of everything in the room, David wandered to the bathroom to wash the car ride off his hands and face. Luckily, he noticed before turning the water on that the only towel-like object in the room was a bathmat hung over the edge of the tub. Oh. Umm.

“Hey, does this door work?!” Alexis chose that moment to swing open the door connecting rooms six and seven.

David scowled at her. Obviously, Alexis.

“Oooo your room looks just like mine. Except I have a double bed.” She walked around in her chunky heels assessing everything. She was doing that thing where she doesn’t really care if the person she’s having a conversation with is listening or not. “Ohmigosh! You could push them together to make a king size! Oooh I wish I had that now. Did you notice any gyms on the way into town? I don’t think I have a directory in my room, do you? I should go for a run before it gets dark. Ohmigosh, do you think they have a Starbucks here? What’s the wifi password again? Do you have your Welcome packet open? What if they only have a Tim Horton’s - can you imagine?!”

Without speaking David took her phone out of her hands and typed in the password for her.

She booped his nose in thanks and continued her ramblings, but David tuned her out. He still really, really wanted to wash up and that was going to be impossible with the current towel situation.

“I need a towel,” he said absently

“Text Brandy, she can get you one,” Alexis said, not taking her eyes off of whatever she was scrolling through on her phone.

“Brenda,” David corrected. He could do that, he supposed. His phone was even in his hand ready to send the message, but something stopped him. “I’m just going to go to the front desk,” David said instead, walking away and not caring what Alexis decided to do.

The nondescript door for the front desk could easily be missed and David nearly did, only noticing the “No Vacancy” sign lit in the adjacent window...and eventually the two other signs saying “office.” When he walked into what was a lobby in name only, his senses were assaulted by the amount of gold and brown, and startled again by the giant portrait of a stag behind the Formica desk. He could barely see the tiny, raven haired receptionist behind the ancient computer monitor.

He walked gingerly toward her, slightly afraid of breaking the silence. She didn’t look up from the screen, her rhythmic click, clicks continuing uninterrupted. David stood for another three seconds before noticing the bell with the plaque that said, “Ring for attention.” He was a meter from this woman, he shouldn’t have to…but maybe she really didn’t notice him. Or maybe she was a weirdo stickler who was waiting for him to ring it. Reaching forward, he tentatively pressed the button on top…which didn’t make a sound or even move. What the fuck?

“What the fuck,” he whispered to himself.

“Can I help you?” the woman replied, pulling the bell out of his reach and barely glancing at him.

“I, um,” David started lamely. “I need a towel.”

“Okay…” she continued clicking.

“And this may be a stupid question based on the…state of the…everything in here, but do you have an espresso bar? Or a cappuccino machine? Or…anything?”

“Mmm, go through those doors and you’ll find the espresso bar next to the hammam spa.”

Right. So that’s how this was going to go. “Okay, just the towel, please.” David settled on what he hoped was an annoyed but not too rude tone, to match her energy.

“Get those right out,” the woman deadpanned.

“Thanks, room seven.” David turned and walked back to his room, no closer to being able to freshen up.

He sat in his room for another 30 minutes, unpacking and arranging his clothes and skin care products, trying out the mattress on one of the beds and then the other. His mind wandered to how Alexis had talked him into taking this job.

He hadn’t meant to be in front of the camera again. That was definitely their mother’s domain. He’d been telling himself that after getting recognized so much for his two-episode arc on Dateline that was all he needed to know that a life of fame was not really for him. Alexis had more experience with her still admittedly short-lived reality show nearly a decade ago, and modeling throughout the years.

David had been running a gallery in New York for about seven years now. “Had been” being the operative phrase here. After his mother’s confession one night over FaceTime that she and David’s father had been financing the whole operation he shut the place down very quickly. Well, he had his assistant do it. David was too depressed to leave his massive studio apartment for a week. Partying five or six nights a week became a full-time job for about two months after that. David told himself that most of that was fun, but he generally tried not to think about it too much.

And then John Candy’s son and the other original GCBS host, what was her name again? Julie? Julia? Anyway, they both got offered roles on different sitcoms, so they needed to be replaced. Alexis’s agent was determined that she should be a host, and somehow or other the producers of the show decided that having two children of a living B-list Canadian celebrity was going to be better than one child of a late A-list Canadian celebrity.

So here he was, in a motel in the middle of semi-rural Ontario. Getting ready to spend a month eating some delicious food, standing on his mark, and hopefully not messing up his lines. Easy. Well…at least not too difficult.

Alexis’s shrill “Uuuuuggghhh!” brought David back to the present. The door joining their rooms was still partially open, so brotherly affection and curiosity getting the better of him, he opened it fully to check on her.

“I just don’t understand _why_ though!” Alexis’s tone was bordering on whiney and he could sense her spiraling, even if he could only see her back.

“I think you should talk to Brenda about that,” said a familiar voice just outside Alexis’s door.

“But like, you’re right _here_ though!”

“Yeah, and that’s not my job,” the receptionist from before replied. Emotionless was apparently her default tone.

“What’s going on?” David asked cautiously.

“Nothing!” Alexis was on the defense now. “I just asked Stevie here to launder my Prada blouse for tomorrow and she like, _won’t_!”

“Okay, well, can you ask Brenda?”

“Who the fuck is Brenda?!” Alexis screeched.

“Jesus, Alexis you need to start paying more attention. Where’s the blouse? I’ll ask her.” David stepped to Alexis’s open closet and immediately picked out the blouse he knew she meant. It was bubblegum pink with a pointed collar straight out of the 70s. A conservative style for Alexis, but it was going to look great on her regardless. She’d probably pair the shortest skirt imaginable with it.

When David turned back around the receptionist had disappeared again. It took a full 30 seconds to walk down to Brenda’s room, hand her the blouse and get her solemn vow to have it ready for the taping tomorrow. It took an additional one minute to convince her that, no, he didn’t need anything. She was much too helpful, and it was probably to make up for their less than stellar accommodations.

Except he did need something, and it was now his mission to obtain it.

“Uh, Stevie, was it?” David stepped into the motel office and stood in front of the desk. The receptionist at least had the decency to look at him this time. “I’m sorry if my sister was like, rude and annoying or whatever. You’re not going to like, the Hills Have Eyes murder us, in our sleep, right?”

“Can’t say,” Stevie deadpanned.

“Okay, can I ask you a question?” David crossed his arms and settled into one hip.

“Shoot,” she turned back to her computer and continued clicking.

“I think you’re kind of rude.”

“Is that a question?” A little chime came from her computer and David half recognized it as the end of a game she must have been playing.

It made him more than a little mad and he could feel his voice raising with his blood pressure. “I have asked you thrice now for a towel, and you have ignored me and given only monosyllabic answers to direct questions. What is your deal?”

“If I give you a towel will you calm the fuck down?” Stevie still seemed unfazed.

David straightened, “Umm…yes.”

“I want you to know I’m only doing this because you called me rude, and I take that as a compliment,” she said hopping off her chair.

“Okay.”

She turned on her heel, whipped around the desk, and beckoned David to follow her out the door with the crook of her finger. She stopped outside of another nondescript door between the office and room five, produced a key from her pocket and in a flash David had two bath towels, two more bathmats, three hand towels and four face cloths piled in his arms.

By the time he peeked over the top of the pile she was already back inside the office. Great. This place was...just great.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CONTESTANTS  
> Patrick Brewer – Schitt’s Creek, Ontario (Business consultant, townie)  
> Samantha Brown – Lethbridge, Alberta (Mom of three, barrister)  
> Kesha Carmack – Whitehorse, Yukon (Indigenous woman, works at the natural history museum in town)  
> Elie Gagnon – Montreal, Quebec (Will pretend to only speak French to people she doesn’t like)  
> Hannah Hamilton – Gander, Newfoundland (Black woman, school administrator)  
> Bonnie McMurray – Letterkenny, Ontario (Rural kid, bartender)  
> Dustin Robertson – Vancouver, British Columbia (Retired accountant, has cats)  
> John Smith – Prince Albert, Saskatchewan (Retired school teacher, gay as a lark)  
> Fred Tupper – Egg Island, Manitoba (Uni student, social work major)  
> Sarah Wilson – Toronto, Ontario (Just out of college, trying to figure her life out)  
> JUDGES  
> Bruno Feldeisen and Kyla Kennaley
> 
> HOSTS  
> Previous hosts: Chris Candy (John Candy’s son) and Julia Chen (both got other gigs)  
> Current hosts: David and Alexis Rose


	2. Cake Week

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's our first week in the tent and it's not a lie, the bakers are tackling all things cake! Will tears fall over fallen tiers? Who will be our first Star Baker? Find out on this week’s episode of The Great Canadian Baking Show.

Patrick’s body woke him up at 4 am, refusing to sleep any longer with the anticipation of the day to come, and the worry of missing his alarm. He had met more production people from the show, and glimpsed one or two of his fellow contestants but everyone had stayed mostly to themselves yesterday.

Not wanting to waste the extra time, Patrick got up, made tea, tried to work out a bit without too much jumping so he wouldn’t disturb his downstairs neighbor, showered, shaved, made a small breakfast, reviewed the recipes he had submitted for Day One, and tried not to throw up from nerves.

At 7am he and his fellow contestants file into the vans waiting to drive them to the tent where they’d shoot for the next four weeks. Well, hopefully. Patrick was struck again suddenly that four weeks wasn’t guaranteed. That the friendly people he just met would not all be going to set each day after they were eliminated. They’d be free to go home, but everyone would at least be reunited for the finale at the end of week four. But still. What if he made it to show five? Or beyond? They would only need one van in a very short time.

The quiet ride was over very quickly, and everyone piles back out into the cool summer morning air. The giant white tent rose almost majestically in the middle of Farmer Collins’ field. Patrick leaned into the slightly giddy feeling brewing in his gut. This was happening. He was actually doing something big and amazing here.

He and the other contestants make their way further into the field and are given instructions about how the day was going to go. They were not allowed in the tent until they were ready to film it. There was a smaller tent closer to the farmhouse which was acting as their Green Room. It was all a bit surreal. Patrick tried to join conversations but either he or the person he was talking to would be whisked away for makeup touch ups, or talking head interviews, or just to check on some element of the schedule. It was all a blur until they were told to line up so they could film the walk over to the tent, and their first looks inside. This was it. Everything was hyper real now.

Patrick stilled his breathing and plasters a smile on his face. He has to suppress the hysterical nervous giggle trying to burst through his teeth as they trudge together and finally see the pastel worktops and immaculately decorated space. He stands behind his assigned space, trying to remember all the things the production assistants had told them. His recipe was in the top left drawer. The bottom right drawer was a proofing drawer, not a regular one. The mixer was already plugged in. If they suddenly needed anything else, they were to flag down an assistant who would stay off camera as much as possible but get it to them. The hosts may come and banter with them at any time. They could shout “Coming out!” or “Going in!” and a cameraperson would rush over to film them putting whatever it was into or out of the oven. They could ask for a time check whenever they needed it.

Have fun. Try to have fun. This was supposed to be fun. So why was Patrick’s heart beating so fast?

Through the nervous fog, Patrick tries to focus on the voices in the periphery announcing what was happening.

“Mark!”

“Cue hosts and judges please!”

He fixes his smile again and shifts his weight to distract himself as the four additional cast members enter the tent and stand on their marks. He recognizes three out of the four, the judges he knew from previous seasons. Alexis, he knew from, well, from Rachel’s brief obsession with modern Socialites during their university days. He hadn’t really thought about that time in a while. He tries to stay focused on what Alexis was saying and not let his mind wander to Rachel and “back then,” and the blowing up of his life a year ago. The male host is speaking now, and Patrick gets distracted for an entirely different reason.

David was…cute. No, handsome? Kind of both. Yes, both. What an inconvenient time to blush this much. This was so inappropriate! He should be paying attention, but he isn’t. He's too focused on David’s mouth and the way his silver rings glint when he talks with his hands. The shape of his slim legs and exposed ankles in the cuffed white jeans, paired with a black sweater and black loafers. He looked…so… _cute_. There were no other accurate words.

Patrick is so busy assessing his physique that when David’s eyes lock on him, he nearly swallows his tongue. Oh, crap. This was an inopportune time to get a raging crush.

It had happened before with guys he knew, teammates, classmates at uni. That was actually what had spurred him to break off his engagement with Rachel. He realized one day that he had never had a crush on her, and that he didn’t love her _like that_. And that wasn’t fair to either of them. The breaking up and moving out had been awkward as hell but they’d done it at least twice before. So Patrick decided more distance would be better, more permanent, and he ended up in Schitt’s Creek.

“Hold!” shouts a voice behind the camera. “Can we run that back, please?”

And somewhat thankfully, the four leads had to do it all again – walk in, hit their mark, say their lines. It happens a few times. So eventually, Patrick is able to hear their whole spiel through at least once – despite his brain seizing up and his throat going dry every time David speaks or glances at him.

“Contestants, we’re rolling this time. Prepare to bake when Alexis and David cue you,” an omnipotent voice sounded from somewhere behind Patrick.

Digging his fingernails into his palms he tries to remember what he was supposed to be doing. Cake. He was going to bake a cake. His “signature” cake. They were all supposed to be doing “upside-down” cakes. Patrick was doing his mother’s favorite classic recipe, he had told the production assistant doing his talking head interview earlier. Pineapple and cherry. Easy. Simple.

“…Bake!” Alexis and David chorused.

What? He had missed “on your marks, get set!” Oh, crap already behind. He pulls open the drawer that was supposed to contain his recipe and almost doesn’t see it, his mind reeling. He looks up, and takes stock of everyone around him, scurrying around like mice.

Sounds of _beep beep beep_ could be heard all over the tent and Patrick has to smile to himself. The familiar noise of timers being set calms him somehow. He glances around, takes another deep breath, and sets to work.

\----

It was too fucking early to be doing this. Why did he sign up for this again? Holy hell, the makeup team was going to have their work cut out with the bags under his eyes. Being thirty-something was rough.

David started his morning slowly. He changes into different lounge clothes to sit in the makeup chair and wait to be called to set. He runs through his lines in his head a few more times. He assures all the production team gophers that he is fine with his breakfast selection. No, he didn’t need anything else, thankyousomuch.

Finally, he and Alexis stand next to Bruno and Kyla in the tent. They were nice enough people for being celebrity chefs and foodies. Alexis hadn’t been too difficult or demanding since yesterday. She was probably realizing that wasn’t the vibe on this set. The whole production was much more genteel and wholesome here, and it was honestly refreshing. Though David was't yet at the point where he'd admit that out loud.

The nerves churning in David’s gut don’t disappear when he flawlessly hits his mark. They didn’t even disappear when he and Alexis kicked off their first take. Was he using his hands too much? Maybe he’d do a take with his hands totally down. He is supposed to be focusing his attention on the contestants, that’s who he is speaking to after all. So he does a sweep with his eyes, starting from stage right, the older Black woman first. Hannah something. With each beat of his line he moves on to another contestant at their workstation, all smiling softly back at him. Lastly is the guy at the front bench. Must be Paaat – holy, fuck he was cute. His photo in the info packet was nice but, oh, shit, seeing those brown eyes in person was libel to make him --.

“Hold!” shouts a voice behind the camera. “Can we run that back, please?”

David tears his eyes away from Patrick and shakes out his hands as they walk back to try it all again. Okay. Get it together. Alexis boops his nose before they step back out again, which he hates but makes him smile despite himself. They run the lines again, David starts his sweep from stage right, feeling weird about looking at Patrick again. This is dumb. This is your job. Do your job. At least he wasn’t nervous about being in front of the camera anymore. Each time felt better, his anxiety a little lighter.

“On your marks…” he grins at Alexis stupidly.

“Get set!” she chirps; eyebrows raised to her hairline.

“Bake!” they announce together. Nailed it.

\---

Somehow, after an hour and a half, Patrick has a simple but beautiful pineapple and cherry upside-down cake. It was on the correct plate, it was ready for filming from all angles, and then it would be judged. He would be judged. It seemed to take forever for it to be his turn. He keeps glancing at David, wondering if he would explode if their eyes met again.

He didn’t explode but Alexis definitely liked the cake, she had sort of blink-winked and stolen a spare cherry during the bake time. And during judging Kyla had positive feedback and took an extra bite before moving on to the next contestant.

Afterward, they got a little break to have lunch, do more talking head interviews about how the day went. It was weird to say the same things over and over, not as magical as watching an episode on TV all cut nicely together.

“I was so nervous, but I just had to get through it. And they seemed to like it.” he grins for the third time.

Back in the tent, the Technical bake is revealed to be chiffon cake, and Patrick almost yelps. And maybe he does make a noise because David’s eyes shoot right to him but bounce away quickly as he and Alexis explain the challenge.

This was going to be fine. Lemon chiffon cake was one of Ray’s favorites. Patrick had made three over the course of his tenancy. Even with sparse directions he could do this just fine. Well, he would be fine as long as David didn’t talk to him…or look at him. He overhears a producer tell David to mingle and Patrick holds his breath for their very brief conversation.

“Feeling confident, Patrick?” David’s voice is light and friendly, maybe a little cocky.

“I’ll let you know in an hour and a half,” Patrick quips back, keeping his eyes on the egg he's straining.

“Hmm,” David sort of laughs, “I’ll be back.”

A little over an hour and a half later he places his perfect – in his humble opinion – cake behind his photo on the “gingham altar.”

He chances a glance up at David who stands casually behind the table waiting his next cue.

“How about now?” David grins at him.

“Definitely,” Patrick replies, unable to couch the smile bursting through his cheeks while his stomach does a little flip.

Day one was almost over. They were basically two-thirds of the way through the first show. After a short break the contestants gather again, sat on their stools and wishing each other luck. It was a kind of torture listening to critiques. Even when they aren’t talking about his bake, Patrick feels his nerves spiking.

Hannah Hamilton was sat on his right and Bonnie McMurray on his left. They both instinctively grab his hands when the final judgment is being weighed and hold on tight. The motion draws the attention of Alexis and David who are patiently waiting off to the side. Patrick dares to glance just so briefly at David. Maybe if he looks more at Alexis it wouldn’t be so…jarring. Why was he being like this?

“It’s me, I’m last,” Bonnie whispers.

“No, they liked the flavor,” Patrick whispers back.

“It was burnt,” she insists sharply, like she was offended he was trying to build her up.

Before he can reply, the judges are ready to make their final announcements and cameras are rearranged. He was wrong, _this_ part was torture. This whole show was going to make him into a nervous wreck.

Bonnie’s cake wasn’t last. That honor belonged to poor Sarah Wilson from Toronto who had a hard time getting her cake to rise. When all of the names had been called except Patrick’s and Hannah’s they just look at each other, stunned. He doesn’t dare take his eyes off her and she squeezes his hand in solidarity.

“And second place,” Bruno lets the pause draw out. “Is this one,” he points at the far end of the table to the cake behind Patrick’s picture.

“That’s me,” Patrick smiles and raises his free hand.

The rush of coming in second doesn’t fade as everyone mills around, congratulating Hannah. It only intensifies when David turns and gives him a high five. His cheeks burn as their hands touch and they look at each other for just a beat longer. Crap.

\-----

David didn’t want to have dinner with everyone after the shooting day ended. He’s not being a diva about it, he’s just…trying to figure out his life and between his ex-live-in boyfriend in New York, and rooming with Alexis in Toronto at their parents' apartment, he hasn’t been really alone in like, ages. So he does yoga outside of the motel on the lawn as the sun starts to set. And he banters with Stevie when she catches him mid-chair pose.

“So, um, this is new,” she says crossing her arms and leaning into one hip like she’s just going to take in the view for a while.

“Yeah, well, the camera adds 10 pounds and we’re sampling a lot of sweets, so…I thought I would just…” David trails off. Why does he feel defensive about this?

“Mmm, I can tell this is a regular practice for you,” her voice is sarcastic, and David doesn’t appreciate it.

“I don’t appreciate the judgement,” he says standing abruptly.

“I have whiskey in the office if you wanted to take a break from, like, this whole thing and unwind in a more…conventional way? Or are you one of those people that only drinks red wine?”

Mmm, that does sound inviting. But he’s really trying to work on himself, away from people and things he knew were not healthy for him.

“Thank you,” he says softly. “Maybe tomorrow night when I have the next day off to get rid of the bloating?”

Stevie nods and clicks her tongue at him before walking away, leaving him to finish his vinyasas in peace.

His skin care routine takes up the rest of his down time before he falls asleep earlier than usual, exhausted from being “on” all day. This was going to be a long four weeks.

Feeling not at all that refreshed, he’s up and at set at the ungodly hour of his call sheet. Sunglasses firmly on, and Helmut Lang hoodie pulled up, he’s just going to let the hair lady work her magic today. Alexis is chattering about something and David just lets his eyes close, just for a second. The soft sounds of people working all around him lull him into a daze. The air was so fresh out here, compared to the cities he tended to spend time in. It was nice to just slow down a bit sometimes. To not have to think about much of anything and just go where someone told him.

“That’s an interesting hoodie,” a warm voice startles him back to consciousness. “Is that a mohawk? Very Noel Fielding.”

“Huh?!” he catches himself and stands straighter. “Noel wishes he had this hoodie,” he mumbles.

“Woah, you okay?” Patrick looks too perfect and alert for this hour of day.

“Yeah, yeah, fine,” David tries to sound casual and fails. Apparently, the contestants had all started to mill around as he dozed while standing up.

“Not quite awake yet?”

“Yeeaah,” David lets his voice soften to a truthful tone, “I don’t usually let anyone see me before 10 am.”

The smile that spreads over Patrick’s face is almost blinding and David suddenly has _thoughts_. Images of Patrick smiling at him like that while unbuttoning his twill shirt…smiling up at him from the motel bed. Wait, what?

“Where did you get that?” David halts that train of thought and points to the coffee cup Patrick is holding. “And is it any good?” The steam curls out of the small drinking hole and it smells perfect. A little bitter, and a little sweet. His mouth may start drooling.

“Oh, um…well, one of the catering ladies gave it to me? I think it’s a cappuccino? I’m not a coffee person so I don’t…Do you, um, do you want it? I only took one sip before I realized…” Patrick’s cheeks flush a little as he rambles. “No, sorry, that’s gross. I can go get you another though. I think it was the woman in the purple puffer vest.”

Without realizing it, David is grinning, his mood considerably lighter. “That’s okay,” he says gently reaching for the cup Patrick is still holding out slightly. “I’ll take it. You look like you have a clean mouth.” David’s hand accidentally brushes against Patrick’s fingers as he takes the weight of the cup. It felt like the perfect drinking temperature for a chilly morning like this one.

“Oh...” Patrick sucks in a short breath and looks away immediately. “Great. I’m just, I’m just going to get a tea then.”

Well, that was just…adorable is the only word David can think of. Interesting. Before he can think too much more though, he’s being called to makeup and hair.

\---

Patrick vibrates with the memory of David touching his hand. Why had he gone up to him again? Why had he spoken? And what on Earth possessed him to offer his _used_ coffee?! Why, why, why?! He had to bake in the final week one challenge in like, _one_ hour. Why the heck would he do something to make himself more on edge?! He asks a different woman behind the catering table for a green tea. No caffeine necessary, his heart’s already beating too fast.

Just like yesterday, it’s a bit of a blur from arriving at the farm, to standing in the tent, to being told to “On your marks, get set, bake!”

Three hours. He just has to get through three hours and end up with a nice, tiered birthday cake at the end. Almost immediately Alexis and Kyla are at his workstation followed closely by a camera and sound team.

“Hello, Patrick!” she trills with a little shoulder move.

“Good morning,” Patrick tries to keep the nerves out of his voice, but he’s still not used to this. Not used to being watched so, so closely.

“Second place in the technical yesterday!” she continues. “Must feel good, right?”

“Uh, yeah.” He has to take a breath and couch his competitive streak. “Hope that means I’m in a good place,” he glances to Kyla who’s also smiling.

“Possibly,” she assures him. “So, tell us about the cake you’re making for your Showstopper today.”

Patrick feels like he’s rambling as he tells them about the tiers of cardamom and ginger spiced cake he’s planning, and how the recipe is his dad’s favorite flavor, paired with layers of cream cheese frosting and a cinnamon caramel drizzle.

“MmmmmMmm,” Alexis hums almost flirtatiously. “Sounds _amazing_!”

“Thanks,” Patrick says weakly before they all turn and move on to Elie’s workstation.

Patrick doesn’t try _not_ to listen, but he’s suddenly feeling his competitive spirit pick up. It would be nice to win. And Elie came in third in the technical, so she’s definitely someone to watch. Her rose cake with vanilla buttercream did sound good and fit what he knew of her personality – a little pretentious.

\----

“Thirty minutes left, bakers!” David shouts, getting into the spirit of things. There is a palatable buzz in the air as the contestants rush about to finish.

“David?” A producer gets his attention. “Can you do one more sweep of some of the bakers, please?” It’s not really a question, though it’s phrased as one.

“Sure, where do you want me?”

“Samantha at bench four, John at bench eight, and Patrick at bench one. Thank you.”

Samantha and John are both in some level of panic. John’s almond and espresso cake has fallen in the center and he’s trying to fix it using various methods David doesn’t think will work, but he tries not to let on. Samantha had to start one of her tiers of lavender sponge over again and is sitting desperately in front of the oven waiting for it to finish. David genuinely feels a little bad for them and wishes them both luck as he moves on.

Patrick, hmm. Patrick is elbow deep in cream cheese frosting.

“Are you a duck right now?” David asks with a grin.

“A what?!” the question obviously startles Patrick and he looks up abruptly from his mixing bowl. He’s quick to smile though when he locks eyes with David.

“A duck,” David says again. “Calm on the surface but paddling like mad below the water.”

“Oh!” a faint blush forms on Patrick’s cheeks David notices. “Yeah, something like that.”

“But you look like you’re in a good place. I see your tiers are mostly assembled. Are they cool enough for icing?”

“Just about,” Patrick goes back to watching what he’s stirring, making sure it is well mixed.

“Ask him about the decoration,” a producer says quietly over David’s shoulder.

“Tell me about the decoration you’re planning,” David parrots easily. It must strike Patrick as funny because he lets out a laugh before answering.

“I um, I actually don’t know. I’m not the best at…all that part.”

“Oh?” David asks. “Did you not practice this one then?”

“No, no I did. My dad is just...not as picky as Bruno and Kyla about the finish.”

“Ah, well, if you want my advice…” David trails off.

“Go on then,” Patrick smiles at him again.

Yeeesss. That smile was going to _do things_ to him. “Stick to sophisticated. Your chiffon cake was simple and elegant.”

“Yeah?” the flush on Patrick’s cheeks deepens.

“Definitely,” David stops himself just short of winking before he walks away.

\---

“Can we have a time check, please?” Fred shouts from the space behind Patrick.

“I think it’s about five minutes, mate.” Patrick talks over his shoulder, still perfecting the smoothness of the icing. He barely even registers the camera pointed at his face. Trying to ignore them was a constant battle.

Sooner than he wants Alexis trills. “Bakers! One minute left!”

“Noooo!” Bonnie groans somewhere. Patrick chances a glance around, his cake isn’t as highly decorated as some, but it also looks a lot better than a few he can see.

The last few seconds feel like absolute chaos around him. Pans fall three worktops behind him. Bonnie keeps saying, “no, no, no, no,” over and over. Fred rushes back and forth to the fridge they share. But Patrick keeps working, keeps perfecting. He could pipe another row of rosettes. Or he could leave it? Leave it. David said simple. K.I.S.S., right? Keep it simple, stupid. And stop thinking about kissing.

“TIME!” Alexis shouts. “Hands off, Dustin! I see you,” her voice is accusatory but light and teasing.

Finally, Patrick allows himself to breathe. He did it. Whatever happened with the final judging he made it through the first week of bakes. The small break while the tent is reset is a nice respite. He gets to chat with Bonnie and Kesha some more. They’ve become fast friends apparently.

Kesha tells him about her job at a nature centre in the Yukon. Bonnie remarks how much this farm is like her brother’s back in Letterkenny. She’s glad she doesn’t have to pick stones and bale hay here between filming.

The judging happens shortly after and somehow Patrick is even more relaxed. All the cakes remain upright. No one faints, but there are a few tears – not from him.

\----

“You made it to the tent,” Kyla gently assures Sarah, who David had just unfortunately revealed as the eliminated baker. “Just need to pay attention to your flavors and your bake times.”

David hugs Hannah, the Star Baker for the week, which Alexis had gotten to announce. Her olive oil citrus cake showstopper was a universal favorite among everyone who had snagged a taste.

“Thank you, thank you,” she keeps repeating as more and more people congratulated her.

He tries to make sure his smile isn’t slipping as he shuffles around everyone and thinks about trying to steal another slice before they wrap for the day. This was a dangerous gig, but thankfully only three and a half more weeks of decadent treats.

Edging around the throng of participants, he finds himself next to Patrick. Itching to see him smile again David grins and holds out his hand.

“Well done, Patrick.”

“Thank you, David.” Patrick’s warm smile and warmer hand clutched in his sets off a slight tingling in David’s chest. Interesting. Very interesting.

After the set lights go out, and producers start wrapping them up, they all find themselves back in the Green Room tent to wind down. Alexis is having an animated conversation with Bonnie, Kesha, and Elie. They are exactly the types of women Alexis would immediately try to befriend. He notices the older men, John and Dustin chatting and they remind him of his own dad. Hannah, Sarah, and Samantha are talking quietly, still consoling Sarah on her loss, and Fred and Patrick seem to be comparing notes about something. They’re nodding and furrowing their brows, gesturing between themselves every so often, and David tries to ignore the little thread of jealousy emerging somewhere around his sternum.

“OOOoooo,” Alexis’s spirited voice carries. “We could form a running clubby!”

“No. No, thank you,” David says to himself, but Patrick glances at him with a soft smile and he suddenly wishes he were a little more athletic.

Back at the motel David lounges on the office couch with Stevie, a bottle of whiskey, and the boxes of cake leftovers he was able to nab from set.

“This one is _really_ good,” she speaks through a mouthful of spiced cake.

“Mmm, cardamom and ginger,” David says in agreement, gesturing with his plastic fork. “This guy was like,” he pauses looking for the right words. “Just amazing this combo. Skilled with a spatula, his focus is just…surprising. And his hands…talented with a piping bag.”

“Oh?” There’s a lilt of teasing in her voice. “Anything else he’s talented with?”

“Huh?”

“Nothing,” she’s grinning widely like he should understand why. “Is he cute as well as talented?”

David just rolls his eyes and keeps that information to himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CONTESTANTS  
> Patrick Brewer – Schitt’s Creek, Ontario (Business consultant, townie)  
> Samantha Brown – Lethbridge, Alberta (Mom of three, barrister)  
> Kesha Carmack – Whitehorse, Yukon (Indigenous woman, works at the natural history museum in town)  
> Elie Gagnon – Montreal, Quebec (Will pretend to only speak French to people she doesn’t like)  
> Hannah Hamilton – Gander, Newfoundland (Black woman, school administrator)*  
> Bonnie McMurray – Letterkenny, Ontario (Rural kid, bartender)  
> Dustin Robertson – Vancouver, British Columbia (Retired accountant, has cats)  
> John Smith – Prince Albert, Saskatchewan (Retired school teacher, gay as a lark)  
> Fred Tupper – Egg Island, Manitoba (Uni student, social work major)  
>  ~~Sarah Wilson – Toronto, Ontario (Just out of college, trying to figure her life out)~~


	3. Biscuit Week

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This week, the bakers tackle biscuits (also known as cookies.) Who will beat the competition, and who will crumble under the pressure? Find out on this week's episode of the Great Canadian Baking Show.

David spends most of their morning off in bed, nursing his whiskey hangover. He doesn't sleep well of course, that's not a thing he does (especially not without pharmaceutical assistance) and his tracking app lets him know he barely made it into a REM cycle at 5am. Brenda brings him lunch from a Thai place in Elmdale. He wastes a few hours hanging out with Stevie in the motel office and appreciates the casual friendship they’ve easily fallen into. There are emails to return to his former gallery assistant, he just does not feel like even dealing with any of that anymore.

The morning comes way too fucking soon again, and he curls into himself as he waits to be called for hair and makeup. The mornings are chilly, summer has not quite taken hold here. If he were in New York he’d be complaining about the constant heat by now. He wouldn’t go anywhere that didn’t have their AC on. He’d be hanging out with people who had not bothered to message him any congratulations or luck on this gig. In fact, hardly anyone he used to see regularly has reached out since he decided to close his art gallery, and he thinks about how he doesn’t much miss them.

“I have two left,” Patrick’s buttery voice cuts through David’s thoughts and the general din of set. He’s not even being spoken to, but it wakes him from his thought-spiral well enough.

Patrick is holding out a container to Alexis who is obviously oscillating about whatever’s inside.

“Nooo, I shouldn’t,” she says doing her T-Rex arms close to her chest. That means she really wants to reach out and grab one of whatever it was.

Curiosity killed the cat, but David’s still alive so he gets up and walks toward them.

“C’mon,” Patrick holds the box up encouragingly. “We did three miles this morning, we earned it.”

Alexis shimmies her whole body in acquiescence as she pulls out a flakey and amazing looking croissant. David has to keep himself from drooling out of the corner of his mouth as Patrick turns to him, offering up the box.

“Last one,” Patrick grins and David helps himself to the pastry treat. “Made them this morning.”

“When did you even have time for that?” Alexis asks between bites.

“I let them proof while we all went for the run, and then in the oven while I showered,” he explains like it’s nothing.

“Aren’t we an over-achiever,” David smiles, savoring the velvety goodness on his tongue, and the blush that rises over the collar of Patrick’s shirt.

\----

Patrick should be focusing. He should be weighing the right amount of brown sugar for his signature cookies, but all he’s doing is staring at the numbers on the scale and thinking about how David’s tongue had darted out to lick a crumb of croissant off his thumb. He should be worrying about getting the right mix of crisp and chew, and if he put enough vanilla in the batter. He should _not_ be worrying about how to get David to do it again.

The first challenge of the day goes by in a blur and Patrick feels like he stood still the entire time. But somehow, he has 24 cookies at the end. Two different flavors that he hopes Bruno will think complement one another. He sits patiently on his stool, waiting his judgement, trying not to burn a hole in the side of David’s head as he accompanies the judges on their rounds.

He was assigned a workstation in the back this time, so he has a full view of their achingly slow progress toward him. They zig zag across the tent. Four more bakers. Three more. Two. Just Samantha…and then they’ll be here.

\------

“Mmmmm! Ohmygod,” David breathes, pressing his lips together, allowing the decadence to wash over him. “Is this what love tastes like?” He’s not sure what made him say that, and he keeps his eyes on the remnants of the double chocolate and hazelnut cookie in his hand as Kyla snickers next to him.

“Patrick,” Bruno says in his heavy accent. “These are…magnifique! Absolute perfection.”

David glances up, steeling himself to look directly at Patrick. He knows he’ll be blushing. Knows his thousand-watt smile is lighting up the tent. And when David confirms that for himself, the little spark of arousal in his stomach may partially be because these cookies are in fact sex on a plate.

Following cues and hitting his mark are the easy parts of this job. Tasting the bakers’ creations is a no-brainer. But David has to remind himself not to get distracted by the movement of a camera team in his periphery. He has to control how many f-bombs he drops as he talks to Alexis while the bakers work and he’s still technically on camera. He has to bite his tongue when he wants to roll his eyes over something she’s said. Letting someone powder his face every hour or so is easy and he contemplates hiring someone to just follow him around and do that forever.

From what David can tell the shooting day goes well. The Technical challenge was interesting. The bakers had to make one dozen, identical shortbread cookies. Super simple on the surface but surprisingly difficult as Bruno and Kyla gave them almost no instructions at all, just the list of ingredients, almost no measurements, no bake temp or time, and a template for what shape they should be in the end.

The challenge lasted 40 minutes which meant cameras were busy, and he and Alexis were busy making sure they interacted with each baker during that time.

Tears were shed around the 30-minute mark. Samantha’s shortbreads were just not turning out well and there was nothing anyone could do, the butter had been too warm and was melting across the baking sheet. David sat on the floor next to her, staring into the oven and trying to be a calming presence. Four months ago, the thought of doing this would have made David’s skin crawl. But he was sort of…slowly changing? Maybe? Almost becoming a different person, or at least, a slightly different version of himself.

\-----

Patrick came in second once again in the Technical. John took top marks, having made shortbread every year for the past three decades for his husband on their anniversary, he had a lot of experience even with the sparse directions. Patrick felt very lucky to be ranked so high. He had been guessing and trying to half remember things from the last time he had made shortbread.

He falls into easy conversation with all of his fellow bakers and realizes that after tomorrow there will be one fewer, which makes him a little sad and scared at the same time. But it will also mean two days off of baking on camera. Two days to get out of his head and away from the commotion of the set…and if he so chooses, he doesn’t have to see anyone involved with the show until Monday. Hmm. Did he want that?

That is…if he makes it through, of course. He tries not to get too cocky about it, but he’s doing well. Sort of surprisingly well. Patrick is _competitive_ by nature, but he had been trying to put that all aside for this wholesome contest. However, there’s no denying that his Signature and Technical challenges received high marks today, and even if tomorrow was a disaster two out of three had to count for enough to let him through over bakers who missed the mark twice today. …Not that he was keeping score.

It’s in the van ride back to their apartments that Kesha and Bonnie mention wanting to go out to explore Schitt’s Creek over the weekend. They quickly convince others it’s a great idea and Patrick doesn’t have the heart to tell them that Schitt’s Creek is actually not that exciting. That they’d be better off going to one of the neighboring Elms if the production team would allow it.

\-----

David breezes into the motel office like he’d been doing it for months instead of just a few days. He drops the container of leftover biscuits on the desk and opens it up, offering Stevie to choose first.

“Why are there so many shortbreads?” she asks, peaking inside.

“Technical challenge,” David replies casually. “I can’t remember whose were whose. Ohmygod,” he exclaims as she finally reaches out. “You have to try this one in the back. I _died_ for a full minute and came twice, I swear.”

She gives him a skeptical look but picks up the double chocolate hazelnut that he was bound to have dreams about, takes a bite and chews it slowly.

“Mmm…yeah….yeah,” she says finally in agreement. “That’s the winner. Who did that one? They’re my Star Baker today.”

“Patrick,” David meant to say it matter-of-factly.

“Ooh,” Stevie practically sings. “Paaatrick?”

“Yes, so?” Okay, so defensive is the attitude we’re going with now.

“You know I know him, right?” He did not know that. Or at least had not really thought about it.

“Oh?” he tries to say casually.

“Yeah, he’s like, a business major or something? Okay, so I don’t know him that well, he’s only lived here for like, a year? I’ve seen him at the café and hanging out with Ray.”

“And Ray is…?” Is that jealousy tinting the edges of his voice? Strange.

“Jack of all trades sort of guy. Super friendly, everybody loves him.”

“Mmm. I bet.”

If they hadn’t been interrupted at that moment by a pair of production assistants walking in, David’s not sure what line of follow up questions he would have started asking. He noticed she didn’t say Ray was Patrick’s partner, or boyfriend, or God forbid husband. He could be a coworker, or roommate, or just…friend. Normal people like him had friends. Right. And David was _not_ going to spiral and assume something about a person’s sexual orientation and current relationship status.

And why does it matter? It’s not like David was going to like, follow up on that. He was here for a job. Just four weeks and then on to something else. Whatever that was going to be.

Instead, David settled for agreeing to eat dinner with Stevie at the local café – which she accurately described as “moderately edible” – and spending his evening rearranging his wardrobe.

Getting out of the motel for dinner at least lets him see a little more of the town he’d be calling home for a few more weeks. There’s a certain charm to it all, and the summer sunset shines a sort of nostalgic glow over everything.

The only shop in town is a general store with a façade that is in desperate need of a facelift. He and Stevie kill some time browsing the aisles before dinner.

“What even is going on here?” David grimaces as he notices the rat poison and baby food on the same shelf.

“Oh, great, rat poison!” Stevie pipes up. “I’ve been trying to catch a big one at the motel.”

“Excuse me what?!” David keeps his voice low but stares daggers at her, begging for an explanation.

“I’m kidding,” she rolls her eyes at him and thankfully doesn’t pick up a box. He feels marginally better he supposes. “Anyway, I heard a rumor that they’re going out of business very soon.”

“How soon?” he asks, thinking it’s not soon enough.

“Like, they’ve printed signs and will put them up next week - soon.”

There’s a touch of sadness in her voice and David can imagine that as a life-long resident of Schitt’s Creek Stevie might feel a certain way about this news.

“Mmm, I can't tell what's more tragic, the fact that the only store in town is closing, or that they've decided to display fungal cream beside the cereal boxes.”

“That's actually really convenient,” Stevie quips again at his elbow, “because I need breakfast for tomorrow, and I'm running low on fungal cream, so...” Humor as a defense mechanism. Check. They were going to be really fast friends.

“Please don't say fungal ever again,” David’s grimace has never felt more genuine. They’re about to eat dinner for God’s sake.

“Fungal?” Stevie needles him with a smirk.

David rolls his eyes and continues looking around. If you squinted hard enough you could see the place had “good bone structure” so-to-speak. Beneath the thick layer of grimy wax, there looked to be an interesting patchwork hardwood floor.

“It's like they knew what the consumer wanted, and then ran in the opposite direction.” He remarks offhandedly.

The original subway tile walls were calling out to be washed and relieved of the heavy shelving and tacky signs covering them up. The two large windows in the front would probably get some beautiful morning light if there wasn’t so much _stuff_ crowding them.

“They just missed the mark, you know?” He keeps talking, more to himself than to his new friend. “This place in the right hands could be very lucrative.”

“What are you talking about?” Stevie asks.

“Hmm? Nothing, just…thinking out loud.” He studies the shelf of wines in front of him now.

“Mm-kay, just sounded like you had a plan there for a second.”

“Oh…no. No, I used to own a gallery in New York. So, I just…know about these things…sort of.” He selects the largest bottles of wine they have off the shelf, trying not to think about the events of the past few months and if he could really trust his instincts. “Do you drink red or white?”

“Whatever’s in front of me,” Stevie shrugs.

“Same,” he agrees and takes both bottles to the till.

\--------

There are four other remaining contestants and three production team members that join Patrick in the morning for a run, as well as Alexis of course. She’s just as perky at 6am as she is at the end of their long baking days and he feels sort of jealous of her stamina.

It’s so fun having this new influx of people in town, and he tries not to make himself sad thinking about them all leaving in a few weeks. He _really_ tries not to think about how if he goes out of the competition before the end that he’ll have to live in this town while the show is still going on without him.

Of course, there was also the matter of a _certain someone_ that Patrick couldn’t get out of his head. It was…fine. It was all fine. He was… _fine_. There was no panic happening, no. _No_. Shit, maybe a little bit. It wasn’t like he didn’t know. He did _know_. He had known this about himself for a little while, it wasn’t his first crush on a guy. But in the past, it had just been easier to ignore it. This time was different somehow, and he felt a little reckless about what he might do without thinking.

Baking had been a stress reliever when he moved here. Any anxiety he was feeling about leaving his old life behind was easily forgotten when he had to concentrate on proper measurements and the right consistency for his dough. But now, he’s baking in front of a man he’s stupidly trying to impress - and the cameras and future audience don’t help his stress level.

“Bakers!” Alexis chimes, a few hours later. “You have ten minutes left in your Biscuit Sculpture challenge!”

From Patrick’s space at the back of the tent he has been distracted over and over by everything going on in front of him. There’s too much to see and process. His gingerbread cottage is not as far along as it should be. He’ll be lucky if he gets to add all the elements in the garden.

“It smells like Christmas in here,” David remarks as he passes by Patrick’s workstation.

Don’t look up, Patrick thinks to himself. Just focus, _focus_. His hands are shaking, and he feels like his heart may explode out of his chest at any second.

“Am I a duck today?” he asks stupidly.

“Oh, no,” there’s a teasing laugh in David’s voice. “Sorry, but you are telegraphing your stress full-on.” David leans over to get a better view of Patrick’s handiwork.

He must black out or something because before Patrick knows it, the challenge is over. David’s at the other end of the tent.

“Piping bags down, everyone!” Alexis shouts.

Well, his creation is assembled, and there’s decoration on it. It’ll have to do. The final judging goes well enough again. Nothing falls, everything tastes good apparently. He doesn’t feel great about it though, and that’s slightly worrying.

“I have the pleasant task of announcing today’s Star Baker,” David sweeps his eyes across the bakers from left to right and tucks his smile into the corner of his mouth which is just... “Elie! Félicitations!”

Everyone applauds for her and Patrick forces himself to smile more broadly, blinking back to the moment.

After a beat Alexis continues, “And I have the awful job of announcing that the baker going home today is…” She puts on an exaggerated pout.

Patrick finds himself staring at David's mouth again and holds his breath. He’s pretty sure he’s not at risk of being sent off. But he gets lost in the delicious anticipation of the quiet beat. God, he could watch that mouth all day. A heat builds in Patrick’s groin suddenly and he longs to chase it.

“Fred. I’m so sorry, Fred.”

He cringes at himself for the inappropriate daydream while poor Fred was being eliminated. The fog still doesn’t really lift as they congratulate each other on making it through, and/or console young Fred. It doesn’t feel totally real that Patrick has lived to see another week. He’s guaranteed a few more days of this, of being around these people. He has to swallow thickly as they leave the set and start chatting.

“Patrick!” Bonnie and Alexis call for him.

Why does he feel a small sense of dread that these two have become friends? “Yeah?” he replies with trepidation.

“You know this town. Where’s the closest cute little bar?” Alexis asks.

“Well…um, the Wobbly Elm is probably closest…but it’s not, like, a nice place,” he confesses.

“That doesn’t matter,” Bonnie says. “We just need to drink. We’re celebrating! Who’s in?”

The look on Alexis’s face doesn’t quite look like it doesn’t matter if it’s a "nice" or "cute" place. But Patrick notices she plasters on a smile anyway, “David and I are _in_!”

“What? You can’t just volunteer me for things,” David sort of scowls and doesn’t stop swiping at his phone, four silver rings tapping against the plastic case.

“Oh, like you’re not dying to go out,” Alexis shoots back at him. “Besides I volunteered you for this show and you seem to be having a good time.” She punctuates her words with little pokes to David’s shoulder. Patrick has never seen them act more like siblings and can’t help but feel a little...fond.

“Fine,” David sighs, “but I’m bringing someone.”

How could four words send him into a tailspin so quickly? Suddenly Patrick’s stomach is on the floor and he’s not sure he’ll ever be able to breathe again. David’s what? Ugh, of course he’s not single. Why would Patrick have assumed that?! And why would he assume he even had a chance?! David was say out of his league.

\-----

“You’re coming to the Tipsy Oak with me tonight,” David speaks before he’s even fully through the motel office door.

“The where?” Stevie asks, barely looking up from what is either Sudoku or solitaire.

“The bar? The only one in town?” he clarifies indignantly.

“Oh! Wobbly Elm!” To her credit she doesn’t make fun of him for getting it wrong.

“Yeah, that’s what I said.” He leans on the desk with both elbows. “Meet me in my room in an hour?”

“On a scale of one to ten how likely am I to be the victim of a hate crime tonight?” David preens in the little mirror by the bathroom.

“Wearing that?” Stevie asks, taking in the leather jacket and tight black jeans. “No, you’re good.” David watches her eyes rake appreciatively over his body again and it feels good.

Maybe he could pretend to be his old self for one night. He might not be able to get like, bottle service at this place but he could feel A-list for a little while if he let himself believe it. His hair still looks great from his morning styling, though he took off most of the makeup they had applied. There’s the barest shadow of eyeliner on his lower lids and he doesn’t hate it. It’s not early-2000s emo band levels.

“Are we drinking to blow off steam or drinking to get blown?” Stevie asks, leaning against the doorframe joining the two rooms.

“Maybe both,” David nods at her.

“Ew, David!” Alexis grumbles from her room, yanking open the door and almost sending Stevie toppling. “You can’t just say stuff like that where I can hear you. …Which shoes?” David finally notices she’s wearing two different platform heels. The booties will be easier to run in, should the need arise – and you just never knew with Alexis.

“The Balenciagas,” he turns back for one last mirror check. “And hurry up, I’m not waiting for you.”

\----

The Wobbly Elm is not the worst bar that has ever existed. They don’t need to keep the lights too low to hide the grime, for instance. There is a jukebox and two pool tables. They serve Zhampagne and have an actual printed menu for food, though its quality is on par with the Café Tropical. And for a Friday night it is not too busy.

Bonnie had managed to convince seven of the current contestants to go out that night, plus four production assistants (two of whom were technically on-duty and only there out of an obligation to keep an eye on everyone), and some additional crew that promised to “try to make it.”

Patrick finds himself with the others, drinking Puppers Premium or Man's Best and sort of hanging around the pool tables, half in one conversation or another. It’s a fine, casual night and he can tell everyone is just trying to let go of the competition and the strangeness of it all.

“I have a theory that Bake Off always has to have four things,” Bonnie is saying, ticking them off on her fingers. “An old grandpa that goes out immediately, a child barely out of high school, an older lady sleeper cell who comes from behind to win it all, and the most beautiful woman in the world.” She bats her eyelashes at the last item, clearly making a joke of it, and everyone listening laughs along with her. She wasn’t totally wrong, those did seem to be the hallmarks of the seasons Patrick had seen.

“Oh!” she adds, “Five things! I forgot a gay man having a mental breakdown.”

Patrick feels seen, _too_ seen. He stops blinking and stops moving, afraid that Bonnie had literally been reading his thoughts the whole week. It's not that he's _not out_ , or well, okay, he's not all the way out, he supposes. He's just not a guy that gets clocked as...not straight...and the opportunity, well, hadn't really come up yet.

“Am I the gay grandpa having a breakdown because I’m going out?” John asks with a good-natured grin.

“Oh, I hope not!” Bonnie consoles him, and everyone falls into chattering about past seasons, tropes and bakes.

\----

By the time David, Alexis, and Stevie arrive they are apparently at least one round behind everyone else, possibly two. There’s a jovial air surrounding the group that he doesn’t want to immediately intrude upon, so he sits near enough at the bar with Stevie, surveys the land, and drinks. It’s Friday and he has two days to sleep off the aftereffects of this night – it is hell being over 30 – so he lets go a little. And drinks.

David sips his third cosmo slowly, worried that there’s either too much vodka in there that he can’t taste it, or none at all. Either way he’s feeling light, content. There’s enough commotion going on between John and Hannah’s heated game of pool, and the clique formed by Alexis, Bonnie, Elie and Kesha.

It’s busy and it almost reminds him of being at a bar in New York. Although back then, he didn’t have a wing-person he could trust, and he somehow finds himself trusting Stevie immediately. She’s deliciously loose at the moment, laughing with him and gossiping in hushed tones like she’s known him for years.

“That guy at the end of the bar? His name is Grant,” Stevie whispers, just starting to slur some of her s’s. “I’ve washed my laundry on his abs once or twice.” Her clumsy wink actually makes David giggle

“Mmm, reminds me of this guy I dated in Japan,” David starts to say.

“Hey, do you want to make out?” Stevie offers suddenly.

Her smile is friendly and bright and honestly, yeah, maybe he does. They're already leaning very close to each other. Agreement is on the tip of his tongue when she turns her attention over his shoulder.

“Patrick!” Stevie gasps. “Your cookiiieeess! Ohmygod, dude. I nearly came when I ate them!”

“Oh, um, thanks,” the blush rises above Patrick’s collar and fills David’s chest with tingly warmth.

“Sit! Drink with us!” Stevie is a very demanding drunk. “David’s never learned how to ride a bike!”

“What the fuck?” David closes his eyes to keep from killing her.

\-----

It takes a second for Patrick to actually get what he came to the bar for – another Puppers. So, he does sit and chat with them, not planning to stay long. But Stevie is talkative, and sometimes half holding on to him, stretching her arm across David to emphasize her point.

“So, remind me what you do for living, Patrick?” David asks politely when he's able to get a word in.

“Oh, um, I’m mostly a business consultant.”

“Mostly?”

“Yeah, I do odd tasks for my roommate Ray sometimes. He has like, a million ventures all going at once, photography, realty, closet organization, notary public.” Patrick ticks the items off on his fingers and with their close proximity accidentally brushes the side of David’s arm. The leather of his jacket is impossibly soft, and Patrick pulls his hand away before he does something stupid like reach out and touch it more fully.

“That sounds like a lot,” David’s smile is soft and his eyes crinkle at the edges, and it does nothing to calm Patrick’s rapidly beating heart.

“Ha, yeah,” Patrick agrees, forcing himself to look away, “I’ve gotten used to it though.”

“So, as a business consultant you like, help people get a start on their dreams, right?” David sips his very pink drink carefully. God his mouth was beautiful.

“Umm, yeah. Yeah, I guess that’s a good way to put it,” Patrick takes a large swig of beer to distract himself and he realizes he maybe should have stopped one beer ago. His belly is _happy_ and everything is tingly on the edges and if David doesn’t stop smiling at him he might…he could just. If he just leaned a little, turned on his stool just a fraction…

“David!” Stevie pipes up again, “Tell him about your businesses! Maybe he can help!”

David looks as though that’s the last thing he wants to do, actually. There’s a panic in his eyes as he glances back and forth between Stevie and Patrick for a second.

“I, um,” he starts awkwardly.

Alexis’s squeal by the pool table interrupts them, “Stevie! You have to play Hannah. Maybe you can beat her!”

Stevie hops off her stool obediently and joins the throng around the pool table like she wasn’t just in the middle of a conversation. Patrick has to smile to himself because of course, unassuming Hannah, middle-aged woman who lives on an island on the edge of the Atlantic Ocean, was going to be a pool shark. 

“You don’t have to tell me about your business, if you don’t want to,” Patrick says after a pause. And he can tell he’s read David correctly because he does a little scrunch thing with his face and lets out a slow breath.

“Yeah, no, it’s fine. I just,” David takes a sip of his drink before continuing. “I used to own a gallery in New York. And I thought it was going really well…but…I guess it wasn’t.” His voice is so low that Patrick has to lean in slightly to hear him.

“That’s too bad,” Patrick says earnestly, willing his hands to stay firmly gripping his beer bottle. “Did you have anyone helping you?”

“Mmm, more than I knew,” David sighs.

“Huh?” What was that supposed to mean?

“This is so embarrassing.” Suddenly Patrick feels bad for bringing it up again. “My parents…were apparently funding all of my patrons. I was a failure and they were keeping me afloat for…seven years.”

“Oh, wow.” Patrick doesn’t know what else to say. That’s such a betrayal of trust and David was rightfully upset about it. To build something you love and then have it turn to ashes.

“Yeah, I found out a few months ago. Handed the reigns to my assistant and walked away. It was so tainted I couldn’t…I couldn’t keep doing it. She’s turning it into something else though, I think.” He looks so defeated and it's heartbreaking.

“That must have been really hard to do, walk away from something you loved?” The words tumble out of Patrick’s mouth and he winces internally. He should really change the subject. This didn’t feel like light chit-chat to get to know a colleague. He definitely shouldn’t be staring at David so intently.

“Mmm,” David nods, “Painful, but not hard.” He’s gazing back at Patrick softly and honestly anything could be going on in the bar, but all Patrick knows is David’s eyes and his soft mouth slowly curving up into a smile on one side.

“Anyway,” he looks away to drink again. “That’s over now. Left my apartment, left my boyfriend, left it all behind. Luckily, my parent’s apartment in Toronto was available otherwise I would have stayed and…”

“And what?” Patrick can’t keep his stupid mouth shut. He could listen to David talk all day long and he’s on the edge of his seat, hanging on every word.

“I don’t know actually,” David shrugs. “Gone back to what was easy, probably.”

All Patrick can do is nod because, yeah, that hits home. How many times had he gotten back with Rachel because it was easy? Because he was there, and she was there, and that’s what people expected him to do.

“Well,” Patrick sits up a little straighter and holds up his bottle in a toast, “to new beginnings then.”

David curls into himself a little before holding out his own drink and grinning. “Cheers,” he whispers and holds Patrick’s gaze. He opens his mouth like a thought has just occurred to him, like he’s going to say something and thinks better of it, pressing his lips back together. But Patrick has seen that David’s tongue is tinged slightly pink from his drink and that knowledge is _doing things_ to his gut.

“What?” Patrick grins back at him.

“Nothing,” David shakes his head and downs the rest of his drink. “Nothing.”

And Patrick doesn’t get to ask anymore questions. Doesn’t get to insist that David’s thoughts are not “nothing” because Bonnie and Alexis are suddenly at their sides, letting them know it’s time to leave.

The two sober production assistants drive everyone back to their respective residences. And back at his apartment, Patrick sobers up slowly. He wonders what sort of art David sold, and tries not to think about David and a boyfriend in a fancy New York apartment. Instead he thinks of David _alone_ in a fancy New York apartment. Standing with his shirt off in front of the floor to ceiling windows. He lets that thought replay and replay until he falls asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bonnie's observations about the show tropes comes from [this tweet](https://twitter.com/AliseNavidad/status/1178401327359102981?s=19).
> 
> CONTESTANTS  
> Patrick Brewer – Schitt’s Creek, Ontario (Business consultant, townie)  
> Samantha Brown – Lethbridge, Alberta (Mom of three, barrister)  
> Kesha Carmack – Whitehorse, Yukon (Indigenous woman, works at the natural history museum in town)  
> Elie Gagnon – Montreal, Quebec (Will pretend to only speak French to people she doesn’t like)*  
> Hannah Hamilton – Gander, Newfoundland (Black woman, school administrator)  
> Bonnie McMurray – Letterkenny, Ontario (Rural kid, bartender)  
> Dustin Robertson – Vancouver, British Columbia (Retired accountant, has cats)  
> John Smith – Prince Albert, Saskatchewan (Retired school teacher, gay as a lark)  
>  ~~Fred Tupper – Egg Island, Manitoba (Uni student, social work major)~~  
>  ~~Sarah Wilson – Toronto, Ontario (Just out of college, trying to figure her life out)~~


	4. Bread Week

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ciabatta believe it's Bread Week! Find out which contestants will rise to the occasion, and who will flake out. Yeet your yeast, we're making bread - and lots of it - on this week's episode of The Great Canadian Baking Show.

“On your marks,” David’s voice is clear and perfect, and Patrick feels like he hasn’t stopped staring at him all morning.

He’s wearing this pant/skirt combination that has been sending Patrick’s mind reeling in all sorts of interesting directions. And the sweater he was wearing…how soft would it be to just…touch it? Would it shed? Would it be warm from David’s body heat?

“Get set!” Alexis almost bounces on her toes, and Patrick takes a slow, deep breath.

“Bake!” they chant together.

Focaccia. Okay, you can do this. Forget your stupid crush for ten stupid minutes, and focus.

Patrick’s on the other side of the tent this week, right in the middle. It feels slightly off, but also it seems like it shouldn’t matter. He doesn’t have quite so many people in front of him to draw his attention away from his own work and he’s determined to stay on task and do his absolute best. Star Baker was going to be his!

Heat the water. Add to the yeast. Let it sit. The steps themselves are easy, there’s no tricky piping or assembling that could go wrong. There’s just chemistry, and patience, and luck.

Add the flour slowly, knead, knead, knead. Then let it proof.

“Patrick!” Kyla steps in front of his workstation with Bruno and David. “Tell us about your focaccia. I see you are kneading by hand today?”

“Yeah,” he keeps fiddling with the dough as he speaks, “I think it gives you more control over the texture. There’s less of a chance of over-kneading this way.”

“And I imagine it’s a good arm workout,” David smiles at him and Patrick can just feel his cheeks go red. God he had beautiful brown eyes.

“Um, yeah, actually. Helps relieve some stress too.” It was true that in addition to being a type of therapy, he had gotten a little stronger, maybe a little fitter because of baking. If he really needed to work through some stress and anxiety about…everything, he would bake a basic white or brown loaf just so he could beat the crap out of the dough for a while.

“I bet,” David agrees softly.

“What flavors are you giving us today?” Bruno asks.

“I’m doing a classic Simon and Garfunkel,” Patrick grins slightly embarrassed, waiting for someone to get the joke.

“Ahhh!” David groans after a beat, “Parsley, Sage, Rosemary and Thyme!”

“Yup.” Did David hate puns? The show’s dialog was full of them, but maybe David secretly loathed it all?

“Ah, very amusing,” Bruno smiles.

“Yeah…thanks. I’m also adding olive oil and parmesan cheese, which I’ve sliced thinly here.” Patrick points to the ingredients he had prepared.

“How lovely,” Kyla coos.

“Is this…” David points to a chunk of cheese off to the side. “Is this extra?”

“Um, yeah,” Patrick smiles, knowing full well what’s coming next.

“I’m just going to…” David tentatively steals the small chunk of cheese with a wink and a grin, “take some of this for the road. Good luck!”

Patrick was still at the very beginning of his crush so any little bit of attention was immediately being blown up and analyzed. The wink…was there genuine fondness there? It would be easy – and dangerous – to think David might actually be into him, and not just playing his part for the show. A big part of Patrick was determined to forget about this crush, to not let it distract him anymore. Or wake him up at night with an inconvenient hard-on. And if he was going to put all that into practice today was a good time to start. So, he kept his head down, and poked at his dough one last time.

“Well, this certainly looks beautiful on the plate,” Kyla says as she sidles up to the workstation with Bruno and David for the judging.

“Indeed,” Bruno starts cutting a piece off of Patrick’s focaccia. “Lovely air pockets in there, and just cooked through.”

“Let’s take a look at your bottom,” Kyla states, turning her piece over in her hands.

“Ha!” David nearly shouts and at the same time, Patrick chokes on his own breath, trying not to react. They lock eyes, grinning and nearly shaking with silent laughter at the innuendo.

It shouldn’t be that funny. “Bottom talk” was – to use yet another pun – the bread and butter of this series. But somehow, it’s just…too much. Too suggestive. Too childish. Patrick bites his tongue and covers his mouth to try to gain control of himself. Bruno and Kyla are being _professional_ and trying to bring it back. Don’t say anything. Don’t say anything. Just don’t. Let it go.

“If you like,” Patrick says invitingly, with a suggestive nod, watching David for his reaction. He’s rewarded when David widens his eyes at him while pressing his lips together trying to hide his grin. Oops? Patrick’s somehow not sorry.

After a moment, as Patrick and David regain themselves Bruno continues, “Patrick, this is delicious.” He’s manhandling the bread as he swallows his bite. “The parmesan really sets off the herbs and oil.”

“Mm,” Kyla agrees. “Your flavors are classic and well balanced. This crumb structure is just right.”

“Well done,” Bruno adds before moving on.

Whew.

During the break, Patrick doesn’t let his mind wander to David…and bottoms. He doesn’t spend an inordinate amount of time fixated on remembering every feature of David’s wide-eyed grin. They do eat lunch at the same table, though it’s with five other people and don’t actually speak much one-on-one.

\-----

“Today, Bruno and Kyla would like you to make 12 English muffins,” David starts explaining the Technical Challenge.

“A classic recipe.” Alexis adds on cue. “Who doesn’t love them with a bit of jam and a cup of tea? Nothing more perfect than that.” Never mind that she’s probably never had an English muffin in her life.

“The judges will be looking for a smooth crust slightly browned on the top and bottom, and a craggy crumb on the inside.” Ok, never mind that David has no idea what that means, but it sounds good.

“You will have two hours for this challenge. On your marks.”

“Get set!”

“Bake!” They chime together. Surprisingly, they had yet to get that bit wrong. Doing this show together had not, so far, been a disaster. There were delicious treats, designer outfits, and yes, even interesting people. Despite his wish to not get close to people right now, David was in danger of making a friend for life in Stevie. And there were…others…that he could see himself getting to know a little better. If he let himself.

About an hour and half later, David and Alexis are nearly done making a final sweep of the tent. As they loop back up through the middle, David catches sight of Patrick almost burning himself on the hot griddle as he flips his first English muffin. All of the bakers are second guessing how long the muffins should cook, and what temperature to keep the griddle. There is cornmeal absolutely everywhere – not just at Patrick’s station, but everyone’s it seems.

“How’s your bottom, Patrick?” the words fly out of David’s mouth before he thinks them through and starts to immediately feel a little embarrassed. This is a family show! This is not subtle!

“Oh,” Patrick blinks, poking the English muffin. “Firm and smooth?”

“Glad to hear it,” David grins. If he accidentally drops his eyes to Patrick’s rear end…well, it’s an _accident_.

“He means the muffins, right?” Alexis asks over David’s shoulder.

Maybe the producers will cut that bit out.

“Let’s go bother Dustin for a minute,” David says instead of letting the light feeling in his chest carry him away.

\-----

It takes an enormous amount of strength and will power for Patrick not to fall apart with less than 30 minutes left in the challenge. David’s voice echoes in his brain, _glad to hear it, glad to hear it, glad to hear it._ It would be annoying if it weren’t so…hot. It also actually ends up helping him time how long to cook his muffins on each side. He counts each repetition, glad to hear it (28) glad to hear it (29) glad to hear it (30). Flip. And starts again.

In the end, he has a dozen lovely brown – and hopefully fully cooked – English muffins on a plate behind his picture on the gingham table. It feels good. He feels like he tried harder today to get it _just right_. Looking at the other bakers' final products he can see that some are _burnt_ on one side, or both sides. Bruno’s going to notice, he thinks. Patrick’s muffins are third from the end, so it takes a little while to get to his judging.

“Nice color,” Bruno notes flipping them all over one-by-one.

“Even bake all around,” Kyla agrees, opening one on the plate.

“And taste,” Bruno says before taking a bite. Patrick holds his breath while they chew. It takes an age before Bruno continues, “just perfect.”

If he hadn’t been squished between John and Elie on their stools Patrick may have been at risk of falling over. Especially since he glances over at Alexis and David and finds that David is already looking right at him, small smile on his gorgeous lips.

Ten minutes later, feeling more like an hour, the judges are ready to reveal the rankings. John’s hockey pucks are last, Samantha’s aren’t much better. They go down the line until there’s just Patrick and Kesha left to be called.

“In second place,” Kyla says, stepping forward. “Is this one.”

Patrick. _Again_.

“That’s me,” he settles for smiling, and instead of being a poor sport he congratulates Kesha on her well-deserved win.

\-----

The tension of the moment leaves the tent as soon as the bakers jump off their stools and start talking. There are all these little reminders of how wholesome this show and experience is, and it may melt David’s cold heart just a little. Very little.

After patting Kesha on the back, he consoles John. Acting. It’s all acting. He’s not emotionally invested in them, he tells himself. No.

At the outer edge of the group, David finds himself stepping closer to where Patrick is listening to Samantha talk about her blooming yeast or something. It sounds gross. She thankfully runs out of things to say about it and turns away.

“Second again,” David says, getting Patrick’s full attention. There’s that instant smile.

“Always a bridesmaid,” Patrick shrugs, pink blossoming on the apples of his cheeks.

David realizes he has nothing else to add and he feels self-conscious about how much he’s smiling and staring into Patrick’s eyes. Professional. Be a professional.

“Well, at least your bottom’s smooth,” he quips, turning to congratulate Kesha again. Nailed it.

“Can you guys just like, never leave?” Stevie asks, legs propped up on the coffee table in the motel office. “Please keep bringing me food every other day.”

“Mmm, I wish,” David finds himself agreeing with a mouthful of buttery English muffin. And it was comforting for a moment to think of staying friends with Stevie, of making a tradition out of sitting on this ugly couch and shooting the shit. “What brand is this butter?” David had been nearly ecstatic when Stevie revealed the mini kitchen set up in the upstairs office. She had produced the butter like it was a prized possession. 

“It’s from the Amish farm on the other side of Elm Glenn. They do jams and syrups too. I only go out there like, every six months so, enjoy it while it lasts.”

“It reminds me of this kind I had at the Ritz in Paris. It’s like, so creamy and salt-less?” He wondered if it was feasible to drive out there and get a giant tub for himself. And maybe some strawberry jam to go with the rest of the English muffins he had taken from the set. Mmmm, that would be probably too good. The element of exclusivity of the butter was an interesting draw that he knew he’d be thinking of for a while.

“My Great Aunt Maureen died yesterday,” Stevie says abruptly.

David has to blink for a second and let his brain catch up. “I’m…sorry?” He seriously can’t read the tone of her voice and honestly, half his mind is still on how he could get this butter delivered to wherever he was going to live next.

“Yeah, I actually really liked her,” Stevie continues undisturbed.

“That seems out of character for you,” David resumes chewing.

“She left me the motel in her will apparently.” She’s saying this much too calmly for David’s taste, but then again, not everyone had a flair for the dramatic like he did.

“That’s…a lot?”

She nods slowly, staring off into the distance before saying, “I think I need some business advice. Do you know…about any of that?”

“I guess…I don’t.” David deflates a little. “Not really. I thought I did…but my parents are the ones who like, have that type of brain, I guess.”

“That’s okay,” her voice is a little brighter, like she didn’t just have an emotion, “I’ll call Ray next week. Have him help sort it out.”

“Or Patrick,” David offers without thinking about it, and Stevie’s side glance lets him know what he’s just said is suspect.

“Yeah, or Patrick,” she agrees with a sly smile.

"What?" 

\-----

This was going to be the most bread Patrick had ever made in his life. Maybe too much bread. Was there such a thing? The brief for the Showstopper challenge was a “bread tableau” of some thing or some place that was important to the baker. The minor panic attack that had resulted from that brainstorming session still loomed in Patrick’s mind a bit.

He had left all meaningful things behind almost a year ago. The only things that brought him comfort and distraction were work, baking, playing his guitar, and the baseball league he joined in Schitt’s Creek. A baseball field would be too difficult to shape, and as riveting as filing paperwork was, the guitar seemed the logical option – as cliché as it was. He had spent an inordinate amount of time last night trying to sketch it out, but his fingers just did not translate the image to paper for him. Hopefully, they would translate it into dough instead.

“I’m making two challah loaves – one for the body, and one for the neck. And there will be a dozen smaller rolls that are music notes, breadsticks for the frets and tuning pins...”

“That’s a lot of bread, Patrick,” Bruno almost warns.

“It _is_ going to be a lot of bread.” Patrick agrees. “Maybe too much bread.”

“No such thing,” David grins, leaning casually on Patrick’s mixer.

It’s almost like a little vote of confidence, which sends a warm, comforting feeling to Patrick’s stomach. With wishes of good luck, they leave him alone to continue working.

Patrick doesn’t necessarily feel that hyper-competitive, slightly reckless energy today. It’s mostly in check and his bake progresses just fine. He gets the smaller elements out of the way first, thinking that the fiddly bits will be harder to wrangle when time starts ramping up the tension at the end.

“David and I are scrounging,” Alexis appears next to him suddenly. She surveys the detritus of various bread stuffs at his station a while later. “Is any of this like, up for grabs?” She bats her eyelashes at him playfully and Patrick notices the camera team following her.

“Um, yeah, that pan over there is extra,” Patrick motions with his head, not ceasing his work. Even though he had never timed himself, he was worried he was starting to fall behind. Distractions in the form of beautiful hosts was not what he needed right now.

“Day-vid!” Alexis shouts behind him, “Patrick has breadsticks for us!”

In no time at all David is standing at Patrick’s workstation too. Oh. Okaaayyyy. After David and Alexis both start munching, the camera team focuses on the next bench over where Dustin is putting a giant ball of dough into his proofing drawer. Alexis moves on too, strolling around to the back of the tent. Patrick is all too aware of David still hanging around, sampling from the discard pile of breads.

“How many eggs do you need for this type of bread?” David asks casually and suddenly the camera team is back on them.

Oh. “Well, each challah loaf calls for five eggs…so…a lot.” Patrick glances down at the bowl of egg in front of him, unable to concentrate.

“Math was clearly your strong suit in school,” David jokes, watching him work. “How are you doing that? Cracking it with one hand, I mean.”

“Um, lots of practice,” Patrick’s trying desperately to not smile so broadly.

“Can you teach me?” David is already moving to the other side of the counter and settling himself next to Patrick. The camera team spin their angle around to get the footage and Patrick has to remind himself yet again not to look at them.

“Um, yeah, sure. So, just hold it gently, but like, firmly, like a baseball,” Patrick tries to demonstrate with his own egg.

“I don’t do sports.” It almost sounds like David is offended by the accusation that he would know how to hold a baseball. “Firmly but gently, sure,” and David shows him how he’s holding the egg and it’s…wrong.

“Uh, sort of?” It’s difficult to describe what to do in words, Patrick realizes. David’s going to drop his egg if he holds it like that and tries to crack it. “You just…just need to move your fingers like…like this...” He has to do it. He has to reach out and move David’s hand to the correct position. At least, he tells himself that touching David was _absolutely necessary_.

“Okay,” David’s voice is low and breathy, and he smells _good_. They are standing closer than is _absolutely necessary_ , if Patrick is honest with himself, and he’s holding David’s hand longer than is _absolutely necessary_. Patrick had anticipated the heat of the tent that morning and chose a short sleeve shirt, so his forearm and elbow are free to just…brush. Just ever so slightly, against David’s Sweater-of-the-Day. It’s not as fuzzy as yesterday’s but, oh, it’s nice. He might not fully appreciate how much it retails for, but he definitely appreciates the softness of the fabric, and the way it hugs David’s hips at the bottom hem.

“Okay,” Patrick repeats, clearing his mind, finally releasing David and half stepping back to get a good angle on the bowl. “And so, you just tap, aiming for the bit that’s between your two fingers there. Keep a good grip on the whole shell so you don’t drop it. Then just push the two halves of shell away using those fingers.” He demonstrates as he speaks and a clean yolk and albumen plop into his bowl. “Et voila! No shell. No messy fingers.”

“Got it, got it,” David steps closer to Patrick to take his turn at the bowl. “Tapping here, gripping?” he narrates.

“Yup,” Patrick reassures him, watching David’s face as he tries out this new skill.

“Pushing the shell open, _not_ dropping it,” David’s yolk and albumen fall neatly into the bowl alongside Patrick’s. “Et voila!” he grins holding up his other hand triumphantly.

“Brilliant job, David!” Patrick beams, “I’m going to put you to work.”

“Yes, I’m taking over!” David jokes back. “You can do my boring bits like the time check.”

“Okay!” Patrick plays along

“We’re at two hours,” a producer whispers to him from behind the camera team.

“Bakers!” Patrick calls out, taking matters into his own hands. “We’re half-way through. Let’s go, people! Two hours remaining!”

“Okay, _coach_ that’s enough out of you,” David laughs, slaps Patrick’s bicep lightly and steps away. “I’ve changed my mind, get back to work!”

Turning back to his work, Patrick doesn’t stop smiling and his cheeks start to ache with it. Maybe…just maybe…he could let himself go. Let himself enjoy these feelings, lean into them a bit. Maybe it would lead to nothing, but maybe…maybe it could be something?

\------

He should feel some sort of shame, David thinks. He and Alexis are at the front of the tent, watching everything unfold. Or rather, there’s a lot of folding and kneading going on right now. A lot of…good, strong arms…a particularly nice set in short sleeves…. Arms strong enough to…grab him maybe? Manhandle him just a little….

“One hour left, bakers!” Alexis shouts next to him, nearly blowing out his eardrum.

“I don’t think they heard you in the back,” he snaps at her, more than a little annoyed she interrupted his daydream.

“ONE HOUR LEFT, BAKERS!” She screams. Ugh, siblings.

“You just made our sound guy’s ears bleed. Thanks for that.”

“This week’s Star Baker is…” Alexis bounces on her toes to draw it out. “Kesha!”

“That means I have the unfortunate task of revealing the baker not joining us next week.” David hates himself a little for it, but he pauses to draw out the tension for dramatic effect. “John, I’m so sorry.”

David will never eat another slice of bread again, he tells himself. At least…until tomorrow. He and Stevie had nearly polished off the box of leftovers from set, and he was starting to have regrets now, laying on his bed in his room. Scrolling through his social media accounts for a while should do the job of numbing his brain, but…why did he still follow all these people? These former “friends.”

They weren’t doing anything interesting, nothing important. They didn’t actually care about the places where they were taking photos, or what they trampled on to get the best angle. He knew for a fact that it was all fake, edited for clout. At first, he had kept tabs on them to make sure that they weren’t talking shit about him in subtweets, and then it was to make sure they weren’t creating new trends he wouldn’t get. But now he realizes with such clarity that none of it mattered.

“Knock, knock,” Alexis’s small voice comes through the crack of the door joining their two rooms.

“Yeah?” he calls, inviting her in.

“What cha doin’?” she asks, plopping herself on his spare bed.

“Having an existential crisis about how my old life was bullshit and nothing I did was of any substance for anyone,” he deadpans, not looking up. “You?”

“Mmm, same,” she agrees easily, and it makes David put his phone down. He can see that the look on her face is genuine, no mask, no façade.

“Oh?” There’s only room for one emotional breakdown at a time in this family.

“Yeah,” she looks away, picking absently at her skirt. “Klair, Albany and Jitney are like, doing the music festival circuit right now. They just went to Bonnaroo on Albany's dad’s jet. Ohmygod, remember that time you came and got me because we had been smoking peyote for three days and got arrested and then hospitalized for trying to break into the neighboring winery?”

“Um, yeah!” David says exasperated, “You wandered over two miles through a creek. You had hypothermia and could have gotten giardia. That was horrifying.” David remembers all of Alexis’s misadventures very well. He tries not to think of the ones where he _wasn’t_ called in to help her.

“Right, well, anyway. I just like, realized that having dinner and drinks at the café in town after work is like, just way more fun and chill than all that.” Alexis shakes her mane of hair out, almost as if she’s brushing away any doubt from herself. “I think…I kind of think I like, like it here or something,” she grimaces at him. “Does that sound weird?”

Honestly, no. It was not weird at all and he’d be lying to himself if he hadn’t started feeling the same way. There was something a little magical, and a lot authentic about this place, and the people he had met.

“That’s not weird,” he assures her, sitting up. “I think it has something to do with stability? Like, you’re not worried that Patrick is going to sell your jewelry while you’re passed out so he can get more of the local currency for gambling.”

“Stavros did that like, _one_ time, David.” Alexis crosses her arms indignantly. “But way to bring up Patrick for no reason.” She’s smiling and blinking both her eyes pointedly. It takes a second for David to realize it’s supposed to be a wink.

“What are you talking about?” David’s the one to cross his arms defensively now.

“Nothing,” she sing-songs. “He’s just a button and you two have been totally vibing.”

A cold wave of dread washes over him. Alexis was not that perceptive of a person and he was supposed to be acting professionally on set. Fuck.

“Anyway,” she continues. “I’m meeting some of the girls from the show at the café now. Want to come?”

“No, but thanks,” David places a hand absently on his stomach. “Stevie and I each ate our combined weight in gluten just now.”

Alexis stands and rolls her eyes at him. “Ugh, David you don’t have to take a box every night! Ew!”

David wishes he had something other than his phone to throw at her in that moment. A roll would have been ideal, if there were any left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CONTESTANTS  
> Patrick Brewer – Schitt’s Creek, Ontario (Business consultant, townie)  
> Samantha Brown – Lethbridge, Alberta (Mom of three, barrister)  
> Kesha Carmack – Whitehorse, Yukon (Indigenous woman, works at the natural history museum in town)*  
> Elie Gagnon – Montreal, Quebec (Will pretend to only speak French to people she doesn’t like)  
> Hannah Hamilton – Gander, Newfoundland (Black woman, school administrator)  
> Bonnie McMurray – Letterkenny, Ontario (Rural kid, bartender)  
> Dustin Robertson – Vancouver, British Columbia (Retired accountant, has cats)  
>  ~~John Smith – Prince Albert, Saskatchewan (Retired school teacher, gay as a lark)~~  
>  ~~Fred Tupper – Egg Island, Manitoba (Uni student, social work major)~~  
>  ~~Sarah Wilson – Toronto, Ontario (Just out of college, trying to figure her life out)~~


	5. Chocolate Week

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Each week we get closer to the end and crowning our ultimate Star Baker. This week the bakers are tackling chocolate in all its forms. Who will temper their nerves and make it through? Who will melt under the pressure of our art history Showstopper Challenge? Find out on this week's episode of the Great Canadian Baking Show!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the purposes of this fic we’re ignoring the existence of Canada Day. Also it's a long one, sorry. Thank you for reading.

David refuses to get out of bed before 10am on his day off. He tells himself he’s resting his voice and saving his energy for the next session of taping tomorrow. In reality, he just hasn’t slept well since he got into town…or really since…Spring? Since he blew up his life in New York. Did he _ever_ sleep well? It was hard to remember a time when he felt rested. He doesn’t actually feel like sleeping, so he doomscrolls through his unanswered emails and social media. He should really unfollow his ex-friends and ex-partners. Their lives are just…too much for him to bare.

A light tapping on the door separating his room from Alexis’s gives him an excuse to drop his phone and look away from it all for a second.

“Yeah?”

“Ew!” Alexis’s voice is accusatory as she walks in, “Why is it dark? It’s like a witch's house in here, David.”

“What the fuck do you want?” That came out probably harsher than he meant it, but he just doesn’t need her to start too.

“Ugh. Rude. I was just going to ask if you want to come to lunch with me.”

“You mean at the café? That place is…” he catches himself before saying something too mean about it. In the few days he had been here, he had slowly begun realizing just how limited the options were. And he often thought about how the people here cared for everyone, and even found the idiosyncrasies of their town charming.

“I know,” Alexis rescues him. “But the others think it’s cute, and like, comforting. So, do you want to come with?”

“Exactly who else is going, and can I invite Stevie?” he asks, his mind half-way made up already.

Two hours later, he’s sat around pushed together tables with Stevie, Alexis, Kesha, Hannah, Samantha, Patrick, and production assistants Brenda and Marie. He picked at his freezer-burned fries and not-terrible tuna melt, while the conversation flowed around him. He had absolutely no desire to Instagram his meal, but if he squinted this was _almost_ like being normal for a minute.

The group stands out in the little eatery, and David does worry that all these outsiders are a nuisance to this town. There are certainly some characters giving them side-eye, like a middle-aged gentleman at the counter.

“Hey, Patrick,” Stevie says in a low tone. “What’s Ivan’s deal?” she tilts her head toward the counter and Patrick follows her motion. Apparently, she had also noticed

“Oh,” Patrick licks mustard out of the corner of his mouth, and it should be disgusting, David thinks, but somehow…it isn’t. “He’s fine. He just wants me to help him brainstorm bagel flavors, but I told him I can’t until this is over. He’s going to start supplying the café every week.”

“Wait,” David smiles with the realization. “He’s the town baker and _you’re_ the one on this show?”

“Um, yeah, I know,” Patrick looks down at his plate like he’s a little embarrassed. “I filed the zoning paperwork for his home-bakery a few months ago and I asked him if he was entering!” he says very defensively. “But Ivan's camera shy and insists he only does pastries. Plus, he said he felt like it was cheating since he’s technically a professional.”

Alexis, who had been sitting between them stands up and walks over to start talking to the folks at the opposite side of the table, apparently bored with this line of questioning. David takes the opportunity to scoot over one chair to more easily speak with Patrick.

“How very noble,” David smirks. “Also, when is he going to start making these pastries and bagels? Have you had them? And I guess not that it matters, are they any good? And how can I get them?”

Patrick snickers at him. “You really have a sweet tooth, huh?”

“After this show, I’m going to start telling people I’m a connoisseur of baked goods,” David jokingly shrugs. “No, but seriously, Ivan’s inspected and proper and I don’t need to worry about getting back-alley bagels?”

The full-on belly laugh that escapes Patrick’s mouth is pure radiant light that warms David to the core. Mmm, that was nice. “Yes, David,” he says catching his breath. “All the farms and wineries selling goods too.”

“Wait, there are wineries?” David whips his head toward Stevie like she should have provided this information much sooner, but she’s talking to Hannah about something.

“Yup,” Patrick affirms, “I should get you out…I mean…while you’re here. …I mean, we could…as a group if you wanted. And, and someone from the show could…” Patrick is blushing, clearing his throat quietly, and looking over at Brenda and Marie for assistance.

“Hmm?” Brenda asks mid-bite. “No, it’s fine. You two can go out,” she confirms with a vigorous wave of her hand. “David’s considered part of the crew so you don’t need someone else to chaperone.”

“Oh!” David blinks and thinks for a moment. “That’s actually kind of great. I wanted to go to this Amish farm that Stevie was telling me about.”

\------

This is fine. Patrick is in no way having a panic attack because he very nearly asked David Rose out on a date. There is some comfort in the fact that Hannah and Samantha had come on this outing with them.

David had been allowed to drive his own Audi to keep one of the production vehicles free, and he was surprisingly cautious and careful at the wheel. Together, the small posse were calling it a day after visiting the Yoders’ for butter and jams, Warner Farms for cheese, and Herb Ertlinger Winery – where David had just grimaced at every fruit wine they sampled.

“No offence but that stuff is only suitable for sangria,” David pops his white sunglasses back on his face and puts the car into drive once everyone is belted.

“Yeah, sorry that was a bust,” Patrick says, cradling a bag of jams in his lap. “There are other wineries,” he clarifies. “We could do those this weekend…or…whenever.”

Sure, make plans with your crush like it’s no big deal, Patrick admonishes himself. Who knew if he’d still be on the show in two days?!

“That sounds nice,” David almost whispers. An hour later he drops them all off at their apartment with well wishes for the shoot tomorrow.

\----

He was never going to get used to these early morning calls. Never. At least he had started the day with toast and that amazing Amish butter. It was also warmer today, though that didn’t bode well for the baker’s challenges.

“Um, hi,” Patrick’s voice is soft like butter breaking through his thoughts.

David really needs to stop thinking about butter. He settles for smiling as an appropriate reaction.

“I, um, got you a cappuccino,” Patrick holds out one of his cups to David. “Not used this time!” He’s barely meeting David’s eyes and it’s…cute? Why is he so nervous?

“Ha, I wouldn’t have minded if it were…because I just really need a coffee!” David adds hastily. Why had he said that? Why was his heart starting to beat so fast at this cute button of a man?

_Oh!_

Oh.

Damnit, he admonishes himself. Don’t fall for the probably straight boy...again.

“Um, so I was thinking about yesterday,” Patrick continues, cautiously sipping from his own cup. “If you’re free on Sunday, I could…show you how to get to the better wineries? Or, go with you?”

“Oh!” Why was David’s mind so suddenly blank?

“I mean, if I’m still here…I mean, I live here so I’ll still _be here_. But even if I’m not _here_ -here! Um…” the pink creeping up Patrick’s neck was delicious, and David wonders just how far down that flush went.

“Actually, I would love to do that,” David answers, voice low from not speaking much yet that morning, but also, he is genuinely touched by the offer. And for plausible deniability he adds, “I know Stevie wants to pick your brain about business stuff too, so you could come to the motel and do that.”

Sure, volunteer him for work he might not want to do. Ugh. Smooth.

“Um, yeah! Sure!” Patrick answers in clipped tones. “I can do that…with Stevie. Sounds…yup, sounds good.”

Before David can dwell on that reaction too much he’s called to hair and makeup.

\----

“So, this is my favorite week ever!” David begins.

“You said that last week,” Alexis pokes him in the ribs, and he swats her hand away sharply.

“Okay, well, this time I mean it because it’s Chocolate Week!”

Patrick blanks out a bit as they recite the introduction, still reeling about the whole…asking David out…thing. _Twice_.

Never mind that David didn’t quite…um, get it. That was fine. Patrick was still very much getting used to being…gay…and navigating the waters of…that. Because, after some soul searching on his morning runs with their little group and staring at himself for a long time in his little apartment bathroom mirror the other night, he realized that yes, he was just gay, not bi or anything. And acknowledging that had felt a little scary, but also like a lot of puzzle pieces falling into place finally. It was easier to say it to himself, and think it, and all of that was making it easier to take a step toward doing something about it. Maybe with David...which was _insane_.

“Patrick!” Bruno taps the worktop edge lightly. “Tell us what you’re making for your Signature chocolate tart today.”

“Right, well, I’m going for take on Nanaimo bars,” Patrick says, weighing his sugar out, trying to ignore that his cheeks felt very hot whenever David was this close to him.

“Excellent,” Kyla adds. “And how are you achieving that?”

“I’m doing a chocolate coconut crust, a thin layer of custard filling, then a thick chocolate ganache layer and more custard on the side.”

“That sounds amazing as usual,” David grins at him and Patrick has to resist the urge to lunge over the countertop and kiss him. Wait? What? Slow the frick down, Brewer.

“With a dark dough it will be more difficult to know when it is done, how are you handling that?” Kyla asks.

“Yup, that’s true. I’ve done this a few times for my roommate and I’ve gotten pretty good at judging the bake time.” Patrick hopes his smile is reassuring and not cocky. You never knew how the editors were going to put this all together in the end.

“Well, good luck,” Bruno wraps up the interview.

“Thank you,” Patrick glances at them all as they walk away, and he catches David’s eye. David’s grinning at him in that sideways way he has. Great. Patrick realizes he’s going to be thinking about that for hours and he’s totally screwed.

“Bakers, our Technical Challenge today is a special one,” Alexis begins.

“That's right, Bruno and Kyla would like for you to make a chocolate soufflé,” David continues.

Patrick blinks and grins. He had nearly lost count of the soufflés he’d made for Ray. It was even one of the last things he practiced before they started taping the show.

“Now, as we all know, soufflés need to be served as soon as they come out of the oven, before they have a chance to fall.” Alexis keeps going.

“For this reason, our challenge will be staggered start times. Bruno and Kyla will still be blind judging as your bake time is up.”

“You will each have one hour for this challenge, beginning ten minutes apart.”

“Patrick will start us off,” David continues. “And the rest of you will wait outside until you are called up.”

“Off you go, bakers!” Alexis rocks on her sky-high heels.

Suddenly it’s just Patrick, David, and Alexis in the tent – and two camera crews. It feels very eerie and Patrick tries not to think about how each week there’s one fewer baker. How shortly, if he’s lucky, there will just be three of them baking.

“Patrick,” David’s voice is soft and soothing. “On your mark.”

“Get set,” Alexis puts on a low tone.

“Bake!” they whisper-shout together.

An hour later, his is the first soufflé to come out, and Bonnie is the last to begin. Patrick’s pretty sure that despite the sparse directions, it’s the best soufflé he’s ever made in his life. The advantage of starting first is that he gets to actually relax while everyone else keeps going. He’s done, there’s nothing else to do but wait patiently for the judging.

“Congratulations, bakers,” David addresses the seven remaining contestants. “You made it through the Technical Challenge.”

“Bruno and Kyla will now reveal the rankings,” Alexis adds.

Seventh place is Bonnie’s which was apparently still partly raw when served. Patrick knows, just _knows_ he’s at the top this time. Kesha is sixth, Dustin fifth, and Elie fourth.

“In third place we have this one,” Kyla gestures. “Hannah, well done.”

“In second place,” Bruno steps forward and pauses, “is this one.”

Damn it.

Patrick raises his hand, “That’s me.”

“Beautiful job, Patrick.” Bruno assures him. “It was magnifique, near perfection.”

“And first place is this one,” Kyla smiles as Samantha raises her hand.

As they wrap up, Patrick tries not to let the disappointment affect him. He was going to win a Technical one time. Just once! He could do it! Ugh! Why hadn’t he won one yet? Why wasn’t he doing enough?

A large, warm hand at the center of his back sooths away a lot of the competitive anxiety building in his chest. He knows whose hand it is before he even sees him. David’s scent was pretty familiar to Patrick by now. They hadn’t spent a lot of time together, but it was enough for Patrick to memorize that slightly floral, slightly spicy, intoxicating _something_ that was uniquely him.

“It’s okay,” David says gently, smiling softly down at him.

And suddenly Patrick wants to cry – from the disappointment, from the tenderness everyone was expressing, and from the realization that he hasn’t had a lot of physical contact with someone he really liked in a long, long time. There’s a lump in his throat threatening to cut off his oxygen and he takes a shuddering breath to try to clear it away. Shit.

“It’s okay,” David repeats and strokes his hand up and down Patrick’s back slowly.

Without thinking about it, Patrick curls into David’s embrace. He just…doesn’t care. He can’t bring himself to freak out about it. Instead he savors the strong arms that wrap around his shoulders and slowly breathes in the steadying warmth of David.

“C’mon,” Alexis’s gentle voice brings Patrick back to himself. He straightens and steps away from David, and Alexis takes the opportunity to wrap herself around Patrick’s arm. “We’re going to meet at the café for dinner in a bit. You’re both coming.”

\-----

David finds himself once again at the café with nearly half the show. There weren’t two tables close enough to each other to push together so they had broken off into smaller groups. It feels more natural this way, less like an imposition on the town, more like fitting in – which to David’s chagrin he still really cares about.

So that’s how he ends up sitting on the end of a booth next to Patrick, sharing a table with Hannah and Samantha on the other side. The ladies keep the conversation going by making small talk about their lives back home and their favorite things they’ve ever baked. At the end of their meals Hannah and Samantha wander off to catch up with other groups, leaving David and Patrick, still sat together, their thighs very nearly touching in the small booth.

“How are you holding up?” David asks, turning toward Patrick slightly. Back in the tent he could feel Patrick’s anxiety, recognized it immediately in his eyes. The hug they shared had been brief, but it was…oh, it was a good one. How long had David been so starved for touch?

Patrick just nods at him for a second, “I’m fine,” he says at last, and David nearly believes him. “Sorry about…before.”

David almost laughs, “Sorry for what? Hugging me?” He looks away to pick at what remains of his fries. “It seemed like you needed it.” Ignore the fact that he needed it too.

“Yeah, well, thanks.” Patrick takes a long sip of his soda. “I guess I did. I just really thought I had it. You know? And I guess it’s been…a while...since I’ve had someone… Well, anyway.”

Patrick’s obviously trying to change the subject. Obviously holding back because David is a relative stranger to him and this seems too…intimate. Too vulnerable. A year ago, that would have made him nauseous. But David finds himself reveling in it.

“I think the last time someone _really_ hugged me was at Christmas,” David confesses offhandedly. He’s not sure why he shared that, but the remark seems to amuse Patrick.

“I didn’t go home for Christmas, so I’ve got you beat,” there’s a hint of bragging in his voice.

“Oh?” David’s not sure why this is a friendly competition, but it is now.

“Yeah, I moved here July 2nd. Exactly a year tomorrow.”

David gapes at him for a moment, stunned not by the length of time, but of the date.

“Yeah, I know, that’s pathetic,” Patrick starts to blush and dismiss the conversation again.

“No!” David insists. “No, it’s just…that’s my birthday.”

Patrick visibly brightens and stares at David now. “Your birthday is _tomorrow?!_ ”

“Um, yeah.” It wasn’t a big deal. It really wasn’t.

“And how old are we?” Patrick starts to tease but the look David shoots him effectively cuts him off. “Uh, never mind. We should celebrate though.”

“Day-vid!” Alexis’s voice is too bright, too loud for this small intimate conversation he was having.

He turns and gives her a _what the fuck do you want?_ sort of look.

“David, I’m going back to the motel.” It’s not a question asking him if he was ready to go, it was a statement indicating that she was ready and that he needed to be too.

Ugh. Fine.

David stared at his phone while wrapped up in a cashmere sweater Jared Leto had given him. It was more like a poncho and easily removed as the day inevitably got hotter. But right now, he was cozy in his chair, waiting for his hair and makeup call, and not dwelling on the fact that no one had sent him birthday wishes. So, being 33 was not that different from nearly every other birthday. Great.

“Haaaaaaaa,” someone started singing behind him, holding a note to get attention.

“-py birthday to you,” the other voices join in and David could not decide if he was happy or appalled at this attention.

He smiles politely as about 12 members of the show – contestants and crew – come into view, led by Patrick holding a plate – on which was some sort of baked good with a candle in it. They finish the song, some dramatically, Alexis nearly in key.

“Make a wish,” Patrick prompts, holding what David could see now is a cinnamon roll.

David’s mind goes sort of blank. What did he want? What had he been wishing for? Nothing specific, actually. Just direction in his life. So that’s what he thinks about as he blows out the candle and everyone applauds around him.

“We’re going back to the Wobbly Elm tonight,” Alexis informs him. Again, not a question, not really even an invitation. Just a fact. She gives his nose her signature boop before walking away.

The rest of the crowd disperses almost as quickly as they had come. There was work to do after all. But Patrick lingers for a second.

“Thank you,” David says almost shyly. Because of course if it wasn't Alexis, the only one who knew, who could have been responsible was Patrick.

“You’re welcome,” Patrick sounds just as embarrassed.

“Did you make this?” David asks before taking a huge bite of the cinnamon roll. It was still warm and the icing perfectly sweet.

“Actually, no.” Patrick confesses. “Ivan did. I remembered the other day when you said you wanted…I mean, I just thought you seemed interested in what he made…So I asked him yesterday after you told me, if he could deliver…and…well…”

“It’s perfect,” David assures him. “Thank you.”

\----

Patrick’s hands are messy. Whose idea was it to do a chocolate sculpture challenge in the middle of summer? They had one hour left and there was absolute chaos in the tent. Bakers were running back and forth to their fridges to keep their sculpted chocolate elements cool and solid. They were supposed to use at least three different techniques and two different flavors for their sculptures based on works of art. Patrick had wisely chosen abstract artist Louise Nevelson’s work, and chosen to make large blocks of chocolate that could be shaved and sculpted as his base, and smaller elements that could be molded and tempered.

“How are we holding up, Patrick?” Alexis breezes by his workstation, David at her side.

“I’m sweating, and I’m afraid to touch anything,” Patrick admits.

“I gotcha,” David searches under Patrick’s worktop for a clean kitchen towel and dabs it at Patrick’s forehead.

The laugh that bubbles up from Patrick’s belly is joyous and cathartic, the goofy moment and their close proximity taking away some of his anxiety about if his sculpture was intricate enough, or if it was even going to hold together.

“You’re dressed far too nicely to stand so close to all of this,” Patrick grins at him. And David does pull a face and back away.

The last five minutes of the challenge is even more chaotic. The tension is palatable as final touches are added to their sculptures with shaking hands. Patrick’s actually relieved when David and Alexis call time. It means he doesn’t have to fiddle with the details anymore. It’s done, it is what it is.

Behind him, Patrick hears a loud gasp and small cry. Bonnie’s sculpture has mostly toppled over at the last minute. Her tears come instantly. It has just not been her week. He’s quick to go and comfort her along with Hannah, David and Alexis, but this was likely the nail in her coffin. What a heartbreak.

“Congratulations on making it through Chocolate Week, bakers!” David smiles at them all. “This week our Star Baker pulled off feats of chocolate engineering genius that would baffle any child – and she should know. I am happy to announce that Star Baker this week is…Samantha! Congratulations!”

Well, that was to be expected. Samantha had absolutely nailed the Showstopper today, and she had been first in the Technical yesterday. He didn’t absolutely need to be Star Baker, but just once Patrick wanted to win a Technical Challenge. He had come so, _so_ close several times already.

“And that means I have the super crummy job of announcing the baker that’s leaving us this week,” Alexis pouts during her dramatic pause. “Bonnie, I’m so sorry!”

Patrick had a feeling that was coming. It just wasn’t her week, she had been at the bottom of the pack in every challenge. The tent was really not going to be the same without her. Bonnie clung to Kesha, trying not to cry and soon Alexis and Elie encircled them both. Patrick watched Kyla approach the hug huddle and rub Bonnie’s shoulder. It felt like a pivotal moment. This was the half-way point, and everyone knew it.

“Okay, that’s enough,” Bonnie says sniffling but smiling at the same time. The pack breaks up and everyone shuffles about, talking and congratulating.

“Well, we’re going out tonight!” Kesha insists.

“Ohmygod, yes, girl,” Alexis quickly agrees. “Shots at the Wobbly Elm for everyone, amirite?!”

\-----

David is feeling…good. Really good. Might-just-get-up-and-karaoke good. But there’s no karaoke machine here, so he doesn’t. He sits in the middle of a u-shaped booth with Stevie and Hannah and Production Assistant Brenda and very, very cute Patrick. And he doesn’t have to worry about anything because people keep buying him drinks because it’s his birthday, and someone else is driving him home. So, he just sits and chats and argues about which is the best pizza chain in Canada, and when Stevie brings up McDonald’s pizza to antagonize him, he doesn’t take the bait. He’s feeling too good for that.

“Hannah!” Alexis bounces over to their booth, “You have to be on my team for pool. We’re playing a doubles tournament. Stevie? Brenda? You in?”

“Hey, what about us?” David asks defensively, leaning protectively toward Patrick.

“Okay, well first of all you hate playing pool because of that one time at Mila Kunis’s house,” Alexis retorts.

“What happened at Mila Kunis’s house?!” Stevie asks, wide-eyed and eager for the story.

“Nothing!” David cuts her off.

“And second of all,” Alexis continues, “it’s a ladies only event right now.”

Moments later David finds himself in the booth with just Patrick. And honestly, he doesn’t hate it. He might even angle his body just so, in an attempt to shut everyone else out, just like he had at the café yesterday. And Patrick may have his arm resting on the back of their seat.

“You don’t have to stay here just 'cause it’s my birthday,” David says with half a smile. “You can go watch them.”

“Oh, no,” Patrick reassures him quickly. “Nah, it’s okay.”

And the longer they look at each other the wider Patrick’s smile becomes which sends a tingly warm feeling to David’s gut.

“So,” Patrick says after a moment, turning his gaze to his beer bottle instead. “Did you have um, other places you wanted to check out on Sunday? Or…does Stevie?”

“Mmm, Stevie can’t come with us, she has to mind the front desk at the motel.” David takes a careful sip of what he promises himself is his last drink of the night. “But she’ll hang out with us after. And she told me about this other farm stand that does tapenade. I want to go to there.”

Patrick chuckles quietly, “I don’t exactly know what tapenade is, but sure, I think I can get you there.”

“I know you can,” David says, not fully realizing the double entendre. But Patrick seems to get it because he blushes and takes a deep sip of his beer.

“So, it will just be us on the field trip, then.” It’s not a real question David realizes. It’s a hopeful clarification that they will be alone for hours.

“Um, yeah,” David presses his lips together and catches Patrick’s quick glance at the action. “Looks like it.”

“Okay…great.”

“Mmhmm,” David agrees, not sure what else to say. Holding back what he really wants to say – that he wanted to spend the whole weekend getting to know Patrick and maybe a night or two _really_ getting to know him and see if the flirting vibe he was feeling between them was actually something.

“We have a lot of great little places around here,” Patrick breaks the lull in conversation finally. “Lots of artisans and…stuff like that.”

“Yeah,” David agrees, surprised himself that that is true. “You should like, use one of Heather’s cheeses for a bake next week, give her a little promotion.”

“Ah, well, next week both the Signature and Showstopper are international desserts, so I don’t think that really works,” Patrick laughs.

“Really? Oh. Well, then what about the episode after that?”

“Well, it’s Vegan Week after that, so I _really_ don’t think that’ll go over well.” Patrick’s smile could melt the goat cheeses they were talking about. “Plus, who knows if I’ll make it that far.”

“Well I’m out of ideas, and also way to fish for a compliment,” David smirks.

“I-” Patrick gapes, “I wasn’t!”

“Mmhmm, sure. You know you're one of the best here, don't deny it.” David drinks the last dregs of his cosmo and licks his lips automatically.

“Uh-” Patrick’s voice is unusually high, “ahem, can I get you another?”

“Oooh, no five is my limit. Promised my body I’d switch to water after this one.”

\----

This was going well. This was going unusually well. Maybe. Probably. Ugh, Patrick realizes he also should switch to water at this point in the evening. So, he returns quickly to their booth with two waters and finds Stevie leaning over the table whispering conspiratorially to David. She blushes and almost flees when she sees Patrick sit down.

“Was it something I said?” he tries to play it off, sliding David’s water toward him.

“Mmm, no,” David takes a swig, “something I did. Do you know how many farms around here sell butter?” he asks kind of abruptly.

Patrick laughs at the suddenness of the question. “Um, I don’t. A few probably.”

“And how many do produce stands?” David asks, not missing a beat.

“One or two,” Patrick guesses, not sure where this line of questioning is going.

“And if the General Store closes, how far do you have to drive to get basic groceries then?”

Why was David concerned about the General Store? Patrick knew the rumors were true, that it was closing, because the owner had come into Ray’s for advice several times and had filled in their closing paper work about a month ago.

“Um, it’s about 30 minutes to Brebner's in Elmdale.”

“So,” David pauses, contemplating the water in his hands. “So, there could be a market here for a store that could provide essentials...but only if there was something else to keep up revenue.” He’s not saying this like a question, which is additionally confusing.

“I suppose. Can I ask why you’re interested?”

“Hmm?” David’s train of thought seems to break, and he turns further toward Patrick, making their conversation feel even more intimate. “I’m…I’m not sure, actually. But I think there’s potentially an idea for a general store.” David seems to realize his mistake because he closes his eyes softly and shakes his head. “But I mean, a very specific store. Like, it would fill a needed gap. Somewhere people could get coffee but not a coffee shop. And also, not a bar.” He glances at their surroundings quickly.

“Okay, clear on what it’s not.” Patrick was pretty sure David was too drunk to know what he was talking about.

“Yeah, it could be like, a branded immersive experience,” David was doing a lot of talking with his hands all of a sudden.

“Loving the buzzwords there.”

“Hmm? Oh.”

Patrick can’t help the warm fond feeling creeping up his chest as he watches David refocus. His eyebrows scrunch together, and he juts his chin out awkwardly.

“Sorry, getting carried away.” David curls into himself a little bit, crossing his arms protectively over his chest.

No, no. That’s not what he wanted at all. “No, David I think you might be on to something.” Patrick doesn’t even think about what he’s doing. His arm is fully moving of its own volition as he reaches out to gently loosen David’s defensive arms.

The sweater he’s chosen tonight is soft. So soft. Patrick’s still pretty buzzed, and clearly, he’s not thinking because he can’t bring himself to let go of David’s arm yet and his eyes haven’t left where his hand is resting.

“I, um,” he chances a glance up at David who is…smiling. Okay. Smiling is good. And gazing at him very gently. “I think you’re…” What? How was he going to finish that sentence? Amazing? Brilliant? Hilarious? Gorgeous?

“Day-vid, we’re going!” Alexis’s voice is very near. Like right in his ear, near. And he realizes that she is in fact leaning over the table separating her from them to get their attention. “I called us an Uber and Patrick’s gotta meet the others outside in like, two minutes.” Oh.

“Um, where’s Stevie?” David asks indignantly.

“She went home with some hot townie named Jake like, 10 minutes ago. Where have you been?”

Right here, Patrick thinks. Not paying attention to anything but each other. He sees Alexis’s eyes travel from David’s face to where Patrick’s hand is still on David’s forearm. He drops his hand quickly, like he was caught giving David a-. Um. Well, something else that involved his hand.

Alexis turns on her heel without another word and makes her way outside. Abandoning their waters, they follow her slowly, navigating the swarm of people that had shown up in the last hour or so. Once outside the fresh air has the very welcome effect of sobering Patrick up a bit more. He can sense David take a deep breath of the warm night air because they are still really close, paused just outside the door, and the reckless feeling returns. Like he’s about to do something stupid.

\---

David breathes deeply again, clearing the stale beer smell from his nostrils. He was going to need to let this sweater air out before getting it dry cleaned. A rowdy couple make their presence known in the doorway behind them so he takes Patrick’s arm and directs him to the right, accidently into the shadow of the building, but at least away from…everything else happening outside. Alexis is still chatting with her clique, meaning their car hadn’t arrived yet so he didn’t need to be in a hurry.

Being off to the side like this feels a bit like it did in the bar. Slightly private. Slightly dangerous. Alive with possibility. Patrick had been moved willingly before, but now seemed rooted to the spot near David.

“Looking forward to the wine on Sunday,” David says, trying to break the silence.

And Patrick takes a deep breath, nodding, “Me too.”

They continue to just look at each other for a moment, not quite touching.

“Happy birthday, David,” Patrick stretches out his arms slowly and David does the same. The distance between them was miniscule but somehow it feels like an age before they finally embrace.

It feels… _good_ …to be held again by him. David’s knowledge of English goes out of his brain because Patrick’s firm arms are holding him close and not letting go. A normal, friendly hug would have ended by now, David thinks. He shifts his arms, signaling that he’s ready to let go if Patrick is. But apparently Patrick isn’t. It’s not until they hear a patron across the parking lot shout that they actually break it up.

“Thank you,” David says finally, his hands still resting lightly on Patrick’s strong shoulders. Oh, he was going to have dreams about those shoulders.

They were still standing so close. Were static electricity storms a thing? Because he feels tingly and not totally from the booze. And is David losing his mind or does Patrick glance down at his lips? Maybe it was David looking at Patrick’s lips? They were nice. And pink. And Patrick had this little bit of stubble going on that David had been resisting the urge all night to just…pet. God, he could just-.

So he does.

He tilts his head slightly and brings his face level with Patrick’s. He moves slowly, just in case. Just in case he had read the signals wrong this whole time. But Patrick’s fingers tighten their grip where one hand is still holding David’s side. And he doesn’t have time to be self conscious because Patrick’s tilting his chin up, and parting his lips just a bit. Just as their lips touch.

The kiss is…firm. And David feels like he might be drowning but he doesn’t dare take a breath and separate their connection. He can feel it in his fucking toes and he might rock slightly up, deepening the kiss because he wants to. Because this is not a friendly kiss. It is _intentional_.

Needing to get air into his lungs becomes too much of a necessity so David pulls back, letting his hand trail from Patrick’s shoulder to his chest, and then he drops it to his side. Patrick takes a miniscule step back too.

“Ahem,” David clears his throat, unable to hide his smile and looking around at anything in the middle distance. Maybe he should apologize. Maybe that had been a terrible idea.

“Thank you,” Patrick’s voice is small and breathy.

So, not a terrible idea. Got it. Now David really can’t hide his grin. “For what?”

Patrick rakes a hand over his face and through his hair before speaking, not much louder this time. “I’ve never done that before…with a guy.” David glances at him but Patrick can’t really meet his eye. “I was, um, getting worried that I was going to let you just…go…without us…having done that. So, thank you…for making that happen.”

Was David’s heart on fire? Was it indigestion from the alcohol already? Or was he actually feeling a strong human connection. A desire to comfort and celebrate with Patrick.

“Well, um, fortunately I’m a very giving person. So.” He might move closer to Patrick again. He might have the idea that they could kiss _again_. And figure out just who was the most generous of the two of them.

“Patrice!” Elie’s shout from across the small yard startles them both. “Allez vien! We are going home now!”

Patrick’s deep breath before he steps away is shaky, “Um, goodnight, David.”

“Goodnight, Patrick,” David’s voice is low, nearly a whisper.

“I guess…I guess I’ll see you Sunday.”

“Yup, yup.” How was he going to keep from spontaneously combusting before then?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CONTESTANTS  
> Patrick Brewer – Schitt’s Creek, Ontario (Business consultant, townie)  
> Samantha Brown – Lethbridge, Alberta (Mom of three, barrister)*  
> Kesha Carmack – Whitehorse, Yukon (Indigenous woman, works at the natural history museum in town)  
> Elie Gagnon – Montreal, Quebec (Will pretend to only speak French to people she doesn’t like)  
> Hannah Hamilton – Gander, Newfoundland (Black woman, school administrator)  
>  ~~Bonnie McMurray – Letterkenny, Ontario (Rural kid, bartender)~~  
>  Dustin Robertson – Vancouver, British Columbia (Retired accountant, has cats)  
>  ~~John Smith – Prince Albert, Saskatchewan (Retired school teacher, gay as a lark)~~  
>  ~~Fred Tupper – Egg Island, Manitoba (Uni student, social work major)~~  
>  ~~Sarah Wilson – Toronto, Ontario (Just out of college, trying to figure her life out)~~


	6. International Week

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The bakers are serving up desserts with an international flair this week. Who will navigate these uncharted waters and emerge victorious? Which of our bakers will lose their way? Find out on this week's episode of The Great Canadian Baking Show!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Officially changing the rating cuz of some *language* 👁👄👁
> 
> Alexis’s story rant might have been inspired by a random generator.  
> Apologies if the other languages are way off and make no sense. I don't speak any of them.

Saturday is a blur. Saturday basically didn’t exist because David spent half the day nursing his hangover, and the other half remembering how he had kissed Patrick...and how _good_ it had been. Like, good-good. Like, one of the best, most romantic kisses of his life. And he tried not to let it fester, but there was a ribbon of doubt in there too. Doubt that it had been a good idea to do that while they worked on the same show. And doubt that Patrick had been into it at all.

He had, right? His hand had felt very firm on David’s side, if he recalled correctly. And he had followed up with that cute little confession. But what if it had been the drinks? And the night air? What if he had woken up with regrets?! Ugh. Nothing to do about that now. So, David just stays around the motel, doing yoga to clear his mind and later when that doesn’t work - because people with anxiety as raging as his can’t just turn it off – he lays on his bed and numbs his brain with mindless social media scrolling.

\----

For Patrick, Saturday is just an extension of Friday because he did. not. sleep. No one had apparently seen him and David, um, _kiss_. Holy crap! That really happened! Oh, man it was…good. Earth shattering, even. Never before had a kiss felt like _that_ , and if he would ever have the chance to do it again Patrick was determined to take it. To make it last even longer and burn every second of it into his brain. Hopefully while a little more sober.

Anyway, no one had said anything to him on the ride back to their apartments. And no one said anything when several of them had lunch together. So, he spent the day in his head, replaying it, fantasizing about doing it again, and very much looking forward to spending a few hours _alone_ with David on Sunday.

\----

“Day-vid?!” Alexis’s voice carries through the shared wall of their motel rooms.

“What?!” he shouts back instead of getting up to open the door like a normal, civilized person would do.

“Dad wants to FaceTime!” They were going to disturb the entire motel on a Sunday morning apparently.

“When?!”

“Now!”

Ugh, fine. He was fully dressed and coiffed and had 20 more minutes until he was supposed to meet up with Patrick, so he gets up and goes to her room while the call connects.

“Kids?” Johnny Rose’s chipper voice comes out of the speaker loud and clear on Alexis’s phone, but they can’t see him.

“Dad, d-, dad? You need to turn your camera around.” Alexis prompts.

“What? Oh! Sorry, is that better?” The camera is flipped the correct way around but all they can see is a close-up of his nose hair.

“Ew!” David and Alexis chorus.

“Yeah, it’s -. Dad? Hold it further back," Alexis instructs. "Prop it up on the table.”

“Oh!” Johnny does as his daughter suggests and Alexis’s screen shows a more flattering angle of their father. “Kids! I see you’re together?! In one place? How are you? … _Where_ are you? What has Alexis done now?” His trademark, slow rhythm comforts David somehow, like he’d been missing the familiarity in his life.

“Ugh, dad! Nothing! God!” Alexis replies almost like a petulant teenager, and that comforts David to an extent too.

“Yeah, we’re near Toronto, dad. Filming the show?” David interjects.

“Toronto?!” Johnny exclaims as if this was brand new information to him, and not clearly communicated via email to his secretary last month. “Your mother and I are in Toronto! We’re staying at the apartment…where are you?!” David notices his father look around and he realizes Johnny is worried that he didn’t know whether his own children were in the same building where he was currently sitting.

“No, dad, we’re about two hours away,” David explains. “In Schitt’s Creek.”

Johnny blinks for a full five seconds before saying, “Where? This is for _A Little Bit Alexis_?”

“Schitt’s. Creek.” David enunciates as best he can. This was going to be an excruciating phone call and he was starting to get a slight headache. “It’s where the baking show is filming.” Eventually his dad would either catch on, or just give up and change the subject.

“…Really?!”

“Um, yeah?” Alexis chimes in.

“What a coincidence that you own that town, David.” Johnny smiles and relaxes like he’s finally understood, but the revelation he’s just dropped makes David and Alexis both sort of jump back.

“I’m sorry, _what_?!” David’s head nearly swivels off his neck with the force of the conversational whiplash happening.

“You own that town,” Johnny says again like it’s David who’s the slow one now. “Schitt’s Creek. It was…what? A gift for your eighth birthday, isn’t that right, Moira?” Johnny calls over his shoulder.

“But why?!” David is nearly shrieking now, and he just gapes at his father and mother who had come into frame beside him.

“It was a joke,” Johnny shrugs on the screen.

“Owning a town was a _joke_?!” David clarifies and Alexis has the decency to mirror his horrified expression.

“Well, yes. You thought the name of the town was very funny at the time.”

“Mmm, I don’t remember it quite like that, dear,” Moira chimes in. "Hello, offspring."

“Neither do I!” David gesticulates so wildly he almost knocks the phone out of Alexis’s hand. “What did Alexis get for her eighth birthday? An island in the North Sea?!”

“No, don’t be preposterous,” Moira waves the suggestion away. “She was bequeathed a diamond tiara and a sojourn to Leningrad.”

“First of all, it was St. Petersburgh by then,” David blinks back and forth between Alexis and his mother on the screen. “And second of all, I remember you living in a castle for two years and then my bar mitzvah had to be delayed for a month because mom and dad had to negotiate with the KGB. I think you win on eighth birthday gifts.”

“Oh really, David? Okay, well you try being told you were adopted and you’re really a Romanov princess as a joke but believing it for two years and having to tunnel your way out of Boris Yeltsin’s secret diamond mine with only a polovnik and carrying a freed orphan on your back.”

Of fucking course. “I have to go,” David sighs.

“Well, it was good to see you, kids.” Johnny breezes right through all that history. “David, I’ll have Eli send you a copy of the deed for the town. I don’t think you get a statue but, hey, a key to the city would be neat!"

No. Absolutely not. “Thanks, dad,” he says instead. “Bye.”

\----

Patrick slides into the passenger seat of David’s Audi still buzzing with nervous energy. None of it had burned off in the 36 hours since they last saw each other.

“Good morning,” Patrick says, willing his heartbeat to maintain a normal rhythm.

“Hey,” David smiles from behind his sunglasses and waits long enough for Patrick to get belted before pulling away from the curb. “I don’t know what your usual order is, but I got you a green tea from the café if you want it.”

Patrick notices the take-away cups in the holders of the center console. “Oh, thanks,” he takes a sip.

Right, he could do this. He could be normal and not weirdly obsessed. It hadn’t occurred to him until that moment that maybe to David the kiss had been no big deal. David had probably kissed like, hundreds of people. If Patrick included the girls that had kissed him on the playground in grade three, he could maybe come up with a handful of people he’d kissed.

“Okay,” David says abruptly. Was that a hint of annoyance in his voice? “I know you’re like, into music so can you please just take the aux cord and put on whatever playlist you want before I have a full-blown panic attack?” He lets out a sigh like it took all his energy to say that.

Patrick can’t help but chuckle because…because that’s ridiculous, and David’s so cute when he’s nervous. And wait…that means David is nervous too. That realization, the fact that David cares enough about what Patrick thinks of his taste in music, that he’s unsure, helps Patrick to relax. He pulls out his phone and puts on his Daily Mix to get them to their first stop of the day.

“I still can’t believe you bought two full cases of that wine,” Patrick says hours later as they load most of their latest purchases into David’s trunk.

“Yes, well I take after my mother,” David shrugs, holding on to the box of individual pie slices they were about to sample. “She says to always treat your crew well so no one can speak ill of you.”

“Oh,” Patrick says a little humbly, realizing he means the wine will become gifts for the GCBS crew in less than two weeks. They settle themselves at one of the tables behind Marilyn’s Pie Shack.

“Plus, she’s a bit of a lush,” David pops the box open between them and jabs his plastic fork into the chocolate one.

Patrick can tell he’s half-joking. Their whole morning had been like that, full of easy and light banter. Out of the tent, away from everything else, there were no nerves holding Patrick back. Nothing interrupting or distracting them. They were having fun. They were. But they also hadn’t…talked about Friday night. At all. David wouldn’t let a silence drag on long enough for Patrick to get up the courage to bring it up. Which was totally fine.

But now, David’s taking a break from talking, chewing his pie carefully. Patrick samples the Apple Crisp one, gearing up to actually say something. He watches David push his sunglasses up on top of his head and stare into the middle distance for a bit. There’s just a wheat field around them. The farmhouse is the other direction so there’s nothing really to focus on. Patrick watches David sigh quietly and take another bite.

“You okay?” he asks finally.

“Mm?”

“You just got quiet for a second.” There. It wasn’t a direct question. Not a question at all, but an invitation for David to bring it up if he wanted.

“Yeah, yeah…” David pauses and sighs again. “I just…I don’t know how to say this.”

Oh, no. Oh, crap. Shit. Fuck. Patrick was breaking out the mental f-bomb for this because this is about to be what he dreaded hearing. Patrick takes a deep breath and puts down his fork. He was not going to have pieces of crust sticking to the roof of his mouth during this conversation.

“It’s okay.” He braces every muscle in his body, willing himself not to react when David finally said it and rejected him.

“Right,” David clears his throat. “Well…I found out this morning that I own this town.”

Wait, what? That’s not at all what he expected David to say. “What? You own which town?”

“Schitt’s Creek, apparently.” David finally looks directly at Patrick. “My dad told me this morning, and they sent over the deed info like, five minutes ago while we were paying Marilyn.”

“Oh.” Was Patrick relieved to hear that? It was certainly an interesting bit of information to process.

“I know, it’s _so weird_. Why is my family so weird?! And I don’t know what it all means, or what to do with this, and don’t ask me _why_ because I’m still not sure why my father did this. He couldn't have gotten me the latest video game console that I never would have touched?”

“Okay…” Why was Patrick so speechless?

“Oh my God, you think I’m like, this snobby, elitist, jerk now and ugh,” David visibly deflates.

“I don’t,” Patrick says softly. And because he can see that David’s anxiety spiral is in full bloom, Patrick reaches out and gently lays his hand on David's. “I promise I don’t.”

David seems to relax after that. He takes a deep breath and sighs it out, “Okay.”

“If you…If you want help figuring it out, I’m available. I mean, I’d be happy to take a look at the deed sometime. If you wanted.”

“That would actually be super helpful,” David whispers.

\-----

They quickly decide to return to the motel and enjoy the remainder of the pie there with Stevie. She and David end up annihilating the Key Lime, Coconut Meringue, and Peanut Butter Chocolate while Patrick reviews the motel deed and her aunt’s will. That comfortable feeling comes over David again, watching him work at the desk, and gossiping with Stevie on the couch.

She had reacted similarly to the news about David owning the town. She had a few more choice reactionary words than Patrick had, but she promised she didn’t think any less of him.

“I didn’t think that highly of you to begin with,” she had japed.

Such a sweet person.

Several members of the crew also staying there had popped by while they sat around. Later, Alexis, Elie and Kesha stopped in and convinced Patrick do go to dinner. After all the pie, David wasn’t sure he’d be able to leave the couch for a week, so he had declined to go too. It didn’t occur to him until hours later, as he got ready for bed, that he had missed the chance to…to what? Say a “proper” goodbye to Patrick? Something like that. Their morning outing had been great but it all ended so abruptly, and he couldn’t help feeling sorry about that.

David didn’t get to say anything to Patrick the next morning before taping either. There was an issue with one of the production vans, so it meant the bakers arrived on set later than usual. And then there were talking heads to do, and Alexis needed help with her lines. So, David’s first real interaction with Patrick wasn’t going to be until the Signature Challenge had started.

“Bakers! Ahlan wa sahlan! Kalos Irthate! Bienvenido and velkommen” Alexis began.

“No, my sister hasn’t lost her mind…yet.” David continued. “It’s International Week in the tent and you will be baking a transnational smorgasbord for us. For your Signature Challenge, Bruno and Kyla would like for you to please make us a tray of baklava.”

“Mmm so yummy! All that flaky and syrupy pastry takes me right back to sunning on the beaches of Greece and Lebanon, and oooh shopping at the souks in Damas-“

“Okay,” David cuts her off on cue. “On your marks, get set-”

“Bake!” Alexis shouts over him, as they had rehearsed.

\----

Whose idea was it to make filo pastry from scratch? No one does this. It’s too fiddly. Patrick could hear Kesha and Dustin both cursing at their workstations in front and behind him. But his was nearing the perfectly paper-thin texture required, it was just a lot of work.

The rush and disorientation of the morning meant he hadn’t had time to be too nervous and overthink things. During the brief with Bruno, Kyla and Alexis they all seemed enthusiastic about his flavor choices – a pistachio and peanut mix with a rose water and maple syrup rather than honey as a nod to their home and native land as it were. If he could just focus and carry on, maybe he could get through. He had no false ideas about being Star Baker anymore. It didn’t much matter actually. As long as he could keep plugging along.

“Patrick, you have done it again,” Bruno smiles at him three and a half hours later.

“Indeed,” Kyla agrees, “good bake, good flavor, well done.”

“I’m just going to take this tiny corner here for the road,” Alexis wiggles, taking a second piece.

Okay, one down, he thinks. If he’s mechanical enough about it all, he’ll make it.

“Prepárense, panaderos!” Alexis kicks off the intro to the Technical Challenge. “Today you will make us a super yummy dessert from Peru. Bruno and Kyla would like you to make one dozen identical guargüeros.”

“Mmm, finally all that time in South America is paying off.” David says sarcastically. “Guargüeros are a fried pastry shell with a dulce-de-leche filling. You will have one hour and fifteen minutes for this Technical Challenge.”

“So, on your marks.”

“Get set.”

“Hornear!” they say together.

Patrick has no idea what he’s doing. The instructions are vague enough for him to feel really out of his element. He’s made cannoli before, and these sounded similar sort of? What was the filling consistency supposed to be like? Was his dough thin enough to fry, but thick enough to hold together? Ugh.

Before he puts his first shell into the fryer Patrick finally looks up and around at his fellow bakers. Some are obviously more panicked than others. Dustin has started his dough over, which seems like a bad idea with less than 30 minutes left. Finally, Patrick glances at the front of the tent where Alexis and David are talking quietly. It takes maybe half a second for David to look up and lock eyes with him. It feels like time slows down for a moment when David presses his lips together in a smile. And, oh, he winks too. Oh. Oh, oh, oh. Yeah, okay. He can do this. 

Patrick picks up an off-cut of dough and tests the oil with it. Perfect.

“Most of you struggled with this one,” Kyla addresses them before they reveal the results.

“In last place are these,” Bruno says pointing at the plate of underdone pastries in the center of the table.

“Those are mine,” Dustin admits.

“Not your best, hmm?” Bruno consoles.

Kesha is fifth, Samantha fourth, and Elie third. Patrick knows his turned out surprisingly well, but he’s up against Hannah for the top spot and she’s just so consistent. He’s sure to be second again.

“In second place are these ones,” Bruno says, stepping to the end of the gingham table…and not the end with Patrick’s plate on it.

“Mine,” Hannah smiles and holds up her hand. Her other hand reaches over and squeeze’s Patrick’s right forearm.

Bruno’s still talking, telling Hannah she did well and minorly critiquing the consistency of her filling. But Patrick doesn’t hear any of that. Because as soon as he realized what was going to happen next, he involuntarily looked up at David. He and Alexis are both wide-eyed and grinning, holding back their excitement for him. Dustin is slapping his left arm gently and Elie had gasped audibly at the reveal.

“And that means first place are these ones,” Kyla says at last. “Congratulations, Patrick.”

“Finally!” Bruno chimes in.

Patrick gets nearly mobbed with congratulations. There are fewer contestants now obviously, but it feels like there are way more sets of arms trying to praise him all at once. He gets whisked away to do an interview in the field and honestly, what can he say? Stunned. Gob smacked. Those words may all come out of his mouth.

“Do you want to call any family and let them know on camera?” the production assistant Marie asks.

“Oh…um,” Patrick’s brain is not functioning. He had been in touch enough with his parents for them to know that he was doing the show. But he hadn’t been the best at communicating with them other than that. They knew he was alive, but they had no idea about...any of his recent self-discoveries.

“You don’t have to, of course,” Marie adds hastily.

“Yeah, no, thanks.” Patrick mumbles. “I’m just not…I’m not sure, um…”

“No worries, I think we got everything.” Marie smiles gently at him and wraps him up for the day.

\----

David and Alexis end up getting pulled into a "quick" promo photo shoot with Bruno and Kyla before they are released for the day. It takes so long that all the bakers and most of the camera crews are wrapped. David almost has a heart attack when his mic pack nearly snags his Gucci sweater.

“So,” David says casually while driving Alexis back to the motel. “What are your plans for dinner?”

“Ummm, I was thinking of ordering from that Asian-fusion place in Elmdale again, if you want something,” she says not looking up from her phone.

“Oh, you’re not…not going out to dinner with the…girls and…whoever?” His voice is nonchalant, right?

Alexis drops her hands to her lap and looks at him with a slow blink and sly smile. That's a no then.

“Um, no, David. I’m not going to dinner with the girls _and whoever_. Why do you ask?” Alexis continues to glare pointedly at him.

“No reason,” he insists, keeping his eyes on the road. It’s like a ten-minute drive so this will thankfully be over very soon.

“Mmm, sure. It has nothing to do with a buff, brown-eyed, button-faced baker. Right. Sure.”

“First of all, that was nice alliteration,” David says in a rushed whisper.

“Thank you,” Alexis scrunches up her shoulders. “I’ve been hanging out with one of the writers, so I know what that means.”

“Second of all,” David continues in his normal tone. “I don’t know who you’re talking about.”

“Hmm, right. You weren’t like, totally vibing on Friday night, and then again yesterday?” She asks sarcastically.

“Nope, I don’t know what you mean.” David holds his head up high determined to not let any of this affect him.

“Sure, sure.” Alexis returns to her phone. “If it was me though, I’d just be careful with on-set relationships. They tend to burn hot and fast and end in a big mess. There’s almost always a wife or a girlfriend back home.”

“Patrick lives here though,” David says without thinking, and he regrets it as soon as Alexis’s head whips back around to him. Fuck.

“Kransekake,” David begins.

“Bless you,” Alexis says with a nod.

“Kransekake,” David repeats himself as scripted. “Is a Danish dessert consisting of stacked concentric rings of cake. It’s usually reserved for special occasions like Christmas and New Year, but why can’t the middle of summer be a special occasion?”

“Hey Day-vid, what kinds of cars do Vikings drive?” Alexis grins to the bakers. “Fjords!”

“Okay,” David deadpans, moving on. “Today you will be making two show-stopping kransekake with at least 10 layers each, both decorated to fit your chosen celebration theme.”

“You will have three hours to crack-on with your kransekake. So, on your marks, get set…” Alexis sings.

“ _Bage_!” they do their best to wrap their throats around the vowels.

It had been another rushed morning on set. You’d think with fewer contestants there wouldn’t be as much chaos, but somehow there was. More time to fill meant more interviews, David supposed. Camera crews were spending longer at each baker’s stations during each round.

This all meant that David had let his mind wander back to Alexis’s warning yesterday. That there was always a wife or a girlfriend somewhere. That had been true a few times for David. More than twice he’d hooked up with a guy only to find out in the morning that he was straight. “This was a misunderstanding,” they always insisted. Bullshit. Why couldn’t they just admit they liked sucking-.

“David,” Marie’s voice pulls him out of his daydream. Can you please do the visits with judges? Your sister’s wardrobe needs a mend.”

“Oh, um, sure.”

“Patrick!” Bruno says brightly, approaching his workstation. “What sort of kransekake are you making today?”

“I’m doing a classic with a twist,” Patrick starts to explain.

“That’s typical of you,” David grins at him. He hadn’t meant to say it. He wasn’t going to say anything during this part. He was going to show Alexis how chill he was with all this.

“Umm, yeah. Yup, I guess that’s true.” Patrick nods. “So, I’m doing an almond with orange blossom and caramel.”

“And what is the event you’re decorating for?” Kyla asks.

Patrick pauses and David notices the flush creeping up his neck. “A wedding, actually,” he says eventually, keeping his eyes on the mixing bowl.

“Oh, are you getting married?” Kyla continues like the answer to that question isn’t about to send David into a tailspin.

Patrick sucks in a deep breath before he answers, which is a bad sign. “No,” he says firmly. “Not yet.”

“Well good luck with your bake,” Bruno wraps it up.

What the fuck was “not yet” supposed to mean? He had a fiancée, didn’t he? Or a girlfriend that would soon become a fiancée. Fuuuuck. David was going to dwell on this all damn day now. Fucking Alexis. He hoped her wardrobe malfunction was an itchy one. Or something more sinister. He couldn’t even think of a proper punishment for his sister’s interference.

\-----

Patrick knew his kransekake wasn’t the best in the tent that day. Hannah absolutely nailed her decorations and took a calculated risk with her flavors that apparently paid off. But Patrick was still riding a little high from getting first in the Technical yesterday. How amazing would it be to get Star Baker? There was still a glimmer of hope there, even if he told himself it was fine if it didn’t happen.

“Today’s Star Baker,” Alexis says swaying slightly, “was dripping with praise in the Signature Challenge, and reached new heights in the Showstopper. Congratulations… _again_ , Hannah!”

“Unfortunately, that means I have to announce who’s going home this week. I’m so sorry to say the person going home is,” David takes a deep, silent breath, his chest raising. It may send a bolt of electric desire right to Patrick’s groin.

Well, that’s inappropriate, Patrick chastises himself.

“Kesha,” David breathes out at last. And the mob to console her is just as swift as the one to congratulate him yesterday.

This was only going to get more difficult, to say goodbye. But also, Patrick had to admit to himself, he was getting kind of comfortable, a little confident, that he might just make it through if he kept up this consistency. If he could maintain his laser focus like he had been really, really trying the past few days, he might just make it through to the end.

Dinner at the café had become a ritual he was going to miss _a lot_ when this was all over. Apart from helping Stevie look at the motel deed, he hadn’t had to do any work for the past two and a half weeks. It was going to be weird going back to that grind. And lonely. Maybe after this he’d finally be motivated to think of what to do with the rest of his life. Did he really want to stay in Schitt’s Creek? Ugh, so much to dwell on later. Let Future-Patrick deal with all that, because Present-Patrick was once again sharing a booth with David Rose. Dustin had also joined them because Alexis had insisted that the girls all sit together or something? It seemed like a weird high school popularity thing was sort of happening? She had basically shoved David into the booth and skipped away.

“So, Dustin, accounting?” David asks ignoring the pickle and fries left on his plate. “That must have been a…um…”

“Really boring job?” Dustin rescues him.

“No, no,” David insists.

“No, you’re right,” Dustin continues unfazed and smiling softly. “It was really boring, but it was also steady. There’s literally nothing interesting about it.”

Patrick tunes out slightly and finishes his burger – Dustin is right, no one asks follow up questions to an accountant, and despite that fact Dustin is drawling on about his old job. When he tunes back in, Patrick realizes that Dustin is waving down some of the others and making excuses for calling an early night. He might describe himself as someone “over the hill” too.

Suddenly, it’s just him and David left at the table which feels familiar and comfortable but also like his head might explode at any moment.

“Whew,” David sighs, “I thought I was going to actually have to feign interest in accounting so I didn’t look like a jerk.”

And the confession makes Patrick laugh. “I don’t have the heart to tell you that one of my job skills is accounting.”

“Oooh,” David whispers and grins, “yeah that’s not sexy, I’m so sorry.”

Patrick lets himself gaze softly at David for a moment. Lets himself feel the electricity between them.

“I have another confession,” Patrick begins finally, and he notices the way David straightens and breaks their eye contact.

“Oh?” There’s definite trepidation in his voice.

“Yeah, I…I actually had another very unsexy job...as a clerk at Rose Video.”

“Oh my God, when?!” David gasps turning back to him.

“Um, the summer of 2003-2005.” Had that been a weird thing to bring up? That he had literally worked for David’s family’s now-defunct franchise?

“Doesn’t Canada have child labor laws? How was that allowed? You must have been a literal baby.” David’s gaping at him, but his eyes are bright and full of laughter.

If he just leaned over, just a fraction of an inch, would David meet him in the middle? Would Patrick be able to twist enough to get a good angle? Would the kiss last long enough for Patrick to fully taste David’s lips? If he pressed his body into David would he be able to feel his-.

“Do you want me to walk you home?” David asks, interrupting Patrick’s train of thought.

“Um, yes.” Patrick looks around the café and realizes everyone else from the show has left already. So he has no choice, if he’s strictly following the production rules still.

The night air does nothing but remind Patrick of the kiss he had shared with David only four days prior. And he should not be thinking about that. He hadn’t been able to bring himself to make another move on their Sunday outing. And he didn’t have a chance once they were back at the motel with Stevie. If it was going to happen again, today, it was going to be sometime during this brief walk. And that’s what Patrick wanted, right?

Yes. More than freaking anything, he was not at all thinking with the head on his shoulders. If he let any blood occupy his brain he'd think about how he didn't need any more distractions right now. That getting involved with someone on the show was likely frowned upon.

“Congratulations, by the way,” David breaks the silence they had fallen into. “I never got to say, after you won the Technical.”

“Oh, right, thanks.” Patrick nods and continues shuffling down the street, matching David’s languid pace. He was all in favor of dragging this out if he could. It was just walking, after all.

“Top five has to feel good, too.”

“It does,” Patrick admits shyly. “I hate to say it but…I really hope I make it to the final.” He means this as a confession of his competitive side, but based on David’s response, it didn’t come out that way.

“I hope you do too,” David whispers and nudges Patrick’s arm lightly with his elbow.

Patrick nudges him back automatically and his blood pressure rises. He suddenly feels short of breath, all his senses on high alert for any additional movement from David. They were less than a block from the apartments. He could…he could just ask if David wanted to… No. What?! Why was he being so reckless? He had never been like this with anyone else.

“So,” David stops in his tracks near a large hedgerow. “This is you?”

Patrick stops too and realizes that with the shrubbery they’re pretty hidden in the dim summer evening light. And they’re standing very near each other, looking slightly awkwardly around.

“Well, goodnight then.” Without warning, David leans forward and pecks Patrick lightly on the cheek. He doesn’t immediately move away, though. They’re standing closer than ever and if David just turned his head – even a fraction to the left – their skin would touch again. Patrick can feel as much as hear David take a deep breath.

“David,” Patrick doesn’t even recognize his own voice. “If you kiss me again, I don’t think I could stop.” He has to swallow the lump in his throat and power through. If he stops talking, they’re going to start making out and then it will be over. Patrick will never recover and he'll never make it through the next week much less the competition.

“What if I don’t want you to stop?” David whispers, not moving away a single centimeter.

Patrick sucks in his breath, itching to lean ever so slightly. Just enough to… No, damn it. Control yourself! He takes a giant step backward.

“Shit, sorry!” David gasps. “That was too much, I’m so sorry.”

“No, no, David!” Patrick holds up his hands, and he has to ball them into fists to keep from reaching out and grabbing David by the shoulders, pressing their bodies together so he could feel-. “No. I’m the one who should be sorry. Believe me when I tell you that I want nothing more than to-. If I had less control I would-.” He doesn’t dare speak aloud what he would do, let alone think it through fully. “I’m kind of new at this and I just need to go slow. And because of the show…I think I need to move…glacially.”

David nods and presses his lips together. “Okay. No, that makes sense.”

“Just until I’m eliminated,” Patrick adds hastily. “And then I would really, really like to lose a little control with you.” He meets David’s eyes again and they are sparkling, and he is trying to hide a grin which just brings out his dimple more and drives Patrick wild.

“Okay,” David says, barely audibly.

Patrick lets out the breath he was holding. Yes. Okay, yes. That was all going to happen…just not tonight.

“Goodnight, David,” Patrick bites his lip. He might do it on purpose, who can say? And he walks away before he can regret it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CONTESTANTS  
> Patrick Brewer – Schitt’s Creek, Ontario (Business consultant, townie)  
> Samantha Brown – Lethbridge, Alberta (Mom of three, barrister)  
>  ~~Kesha Carmack – Whitehorse, Yukon (Indigenous woman, works at the natural history museum in town)~~  
>  Elie Gagnon – Montreal, Quebec (Will pretend to only speak French to people she doesn’t like)  
> Hannah Hamilton – Gander, Newfoundland (Black woman, school administrator)*  
>  ~~Bonnie McMurray – Letterkenny, Ontario (Rural kid, bartender)~~  
>  Dustin Robertson – Vancouver, British Columbia (Retired accountant, has cats)  
>  ~~John Smith – Prince Albert, Saskatchewan (Retired school teacher, gay as a lark)~~  
>  ~~Fred Tupper – Egg Island, Manitoba (Uni student, social work major)~~  
>  ~~Sarah Wilson – Toronto, Ontario (Just out of college, trying to figure her life out)~~


	7. Vegan Week

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is the veganning of the end for one of our bakers! It's Vegan Week and at the end of our show we'll have our top-four bakers and semi-finalists. Lettuce turnip the beet to see who will secure one of those coveted spots, and who will be soy disappointed to go home. Find out on this week’s episode of The Great Canadian Baking Show.

David should really start going to bed earlier on taping days, he tells himself while lounging and dozing in the warming morning air. His sweater is probably too much for today and he contemplates taking it off while waiting to be called to hair and makeup. Patrick and the other bakers were already waiting and doing their own pre-filming routines when David and Alexis had arrived on set that morning. Without a word, Patrick had breezed by David’s chair and handed him a coffee cup with a small smile, then breezed away just as quickly. It was such a cute, comfortable action, and David hadn’t really stopped smiling to himself. So he dozed a bit and then let himself hide behind his sunglasses while he sipped his cappuccino, watching all the action happening around him.

"Welcome back to the tent, bakers. Prepare yourselves because it’s Vegan Week!" Alexis begins. "That’s right, all animal products are banned."

“No meat, no milk, no eggs, not even honey!” David noticed none of the on-camera folks were even wearing leather today.

“No, honey? Sad face,” Alexis pouts.

“Yes, well, for your Signature Challenge we would like you to make a savory tart fit for a lazy luncheon. Bruno and Kyla want flavorful fillings, and flaky crusts. You have two hours. On your marks.”

“Get set!”

“Bake!”

The usual commotion begins immediately, bakers bustling to and fro, grabbing for tools and ingredients. It’s a familiar rhythm that David realizes he’s going to miss. There’s only five of them left and already the tent felt quieter, and maybe too big. The set team had struck one worktop after each elimination, and it looked really empty this week. All of those small signals that this was almost all over were really starting to trouble David.

He still didn’t have a plan after this. He and Alexis would have to do voice over work in the Toronto studio after the episodes were all edited, but that was going to be fairly lonely work, and would only take a few days. There were bound to be press calls closer to when the show would air in the fall…something to look forward to, he supposed? But what about in six months? What did he want after that? In addition to more sleep, he should spend more time figuring that out.

Without realizing it, he had been watching Patrick while his mind wandered. He was at the odd bench in the back, working away. He looked really nice in his grey, short sleeved button up. The sleeves were hugging his biceps tantalizingly tightly. Hmm, David was definitely going to be thinking about those arms for a while. And it didn’t help that during that lustful thought Patrick glanced up at him. Yeah. Yup. He was going to dream well tonight.

\----

“Patrick, tell us about your Signature Savory Tart,” Bruno asks.

“Sure! I’m doing a root vegetable version of a tourtiére with a tomato relish,” Patrick doesn’t stop chopping his vegetables. If he wants to do a decorative top crust, he needs all the time he has.

“And what fats are you using today?” Kyla continues.

“I decided to go with vegan butter instead of coconut oil or vegetable shortening. I just think it gives the pastry a richer flavor.”

“Have you made this one before then?” David asks.

“Um, yeah.” Patrick starts to flush and suddenly feels self-conscious. “I, um, had a girlfriend who went vegan for a month. We had to be creative with recipes.”

“Oh,” David’s voice is a strange squeak. “How nice.”

“Thank you, Patrick,” Kyla wraps it up.

Patrick is _focusing_ today. He is determined to get through each of his tasks as methodically and precisely as he can. He mostly keeps his eyes to his worktop, only once or twice sneaking a glimpse up at David. He doesn’t let it linger and distract him, though. There may be hopes of getting Star Baker, but that wasn’t the goal anymore. The main goal was to get through to another week. He just wanted to keep going and make it to the end.

“Bakers, you have one vegan minute!” Alexis calls from the back of the tent.

“How’s that different than a regular minute?” David asks.

“It’s cruelty free.”

“Ah. Sure.”

Patrick chuckles to himself, willing his hands not to shake as he applied the finishing touches to his tourtiére. He had realized yesterday that if he wanted to win, and he did, he’d have to pay more attention to the finishing details and making everything look as good as it tasted.

“Patrick, I’m so excited to taste this,” Bruno says, cutting into the tart and lifting it onto the plate.

He and Kyla examined the crust and filling. They poke and prod the slice until it is just a beet-pink mess on the plate. Declaring it very good, they move on and Alexis winks at him before following along.

One down.

\-----

The sun was nice, not that it was likely penetrating through the thick makeup on his face. Most of the cast and crew were taking their lunch out of the production tents. The breeze was really gentle and there were plenty of places on the edge of the farm that were in part shade. The bakers had to do talking head interviews before they could wrap, so David was half done with his salad by the time Patrick claimed a spot near him.

“How’d it go?” David asks, fishing for small talk. Forty minutes ago, he was still reeling a little bit about Patrick’s mention of a past girlfriend. But in that time, he had come to his senses and tried hard not to assume anything and found his center chi. It was fine. It’s not like they were dating. It didn't matter.

“Oh, pretty good,” Patrick nods while unwrapping his meal. “They said they liked it. Have to take that, I suppose.”

“Mmm, sure,” David agrees. He’s not going to say anything. He’s not. He’s centered. It’s passed. “So you’ve made that one before?” Damn it.

Patrick takes a deep breath, not looking up while he speaks, “Um, yeah. …Caught that one, huh?”

“I didn’t-” David starts to brush the topic away.

“Listen-” Patrick says at the same time.

There’s a moment when David almost insists Patrick doesn’t have to defend himself. But Patrick seems determined to keep going and explain.

“Okay, so, there was a time that I…had a girlfriend…a…fiancée, actually.”

It feels like David can’t breathe suddenly. Like a giant cinderblock is pressing into his chest. But he remains silent, keeps his face still. Because whatever this is, wherever Patrick is going with this quasi-confession, he can tell this is an extremely difficult thing to say.

“Her name is Rachel. We were together for…whew, almost 10 years? All together? Something like that.”

“You’re not sure?” David asks, slightly amused and very concerned that someone wouldn’t know exactly how long they were in a relationship that had taken the next step toward permanent couple-dom.

“Well, we broke up a lot? I sort of lost track,” he scratches at his neck absently and it makes David's heart clench. “Anyway, the last time we broke up was a year ago. Like, exactly a year ago…after I…finally realized something about myself.” Patrick glances sideways at David, keeping his head bowed as if to protect himself from being fully exposed.

“Oh,” David nods in understanding, something like relief blooming in his chest for a moment.

“Yeah. I wanted to make sure the break-up was permanent this time. So, I…Ahem. I kind of just up and left…and didn’t _tell_ anyone why.”

“Oh!” he doesn’t mean to sound so shocked, but this is… _a lot_ for one person to carry around. “And then you didn’t go home for Christmas so…”

Patrick just nods and picks at his lunch, still not meeting David’s eye. His breaths are shallow and there’s a muscle twitching in his jaw.

“Hey,” David reaches over and touches his arm gently. “Thank you for telling me.” 

Patrick gives him a small smile in return and visibly relaxes a little. They sit in comfortable silence for a couple minutes, eating and enjoying the landscape.

He wants to say so much more, that everyone has their own journey, and that there's no right way to come out, or reason that he ever has to, but he finds himself demurring to humor in the moment. “I came home with a couple one Thanksgiving and told my parents to just deal with it,” he says, gazing at the field in front of them. He registers Patrick’s little chuckle and shifting posture and figures he got most of that across regardless.

“I’ve actually never even said it out loud,” he says softly.

“That’s okay,” David assures him. If they were really alone in this field, if there weren’t about 40 crew members buzzing around off to the side, David would have scooted closer. He would have made sure at least their arms were touching – if not slung over his shoulders wrapping him in a giant hug – so it would all be easier. Instead, he settles for just being there. Making his presence known, but respecting Patrick’s space.

“David?” Patrick looks down at his lap, picking at the grass between his feet. “I’m gay. …And I really like you.”

Okay, that’s. That’s new. That’s a new…exciting feeling. David can actually feel the blood rushing around the veins in his body. He presses his lips together to keep his smile in check, because…because it goes against his brand, to be this happy. This was all very…different to how most of his past relationships had begun. He opens his mouth, so very nearly ready to say it back. Because Patrick is a being unlike anyone David has ever been with before, and he makes David want to be better, more honest, more open to opportunities like this one. Even after the very brief time they’ve known each other.

“DAY-VID!” Alexis bellows from the production tent at him. “Day-vid, they need us for a sec!”

Damn it. Knowing how things go on set, this was not going to be just one second.

“Listen,” he says in a rush, placing his hand firmly on Patrick’s knee. “Have dinner with me. Tonight.”

“Okay,” Patrick agrees a little dumbstruck.

“Meet you at the café at 7, okay?” David stands and is half-way to Alexis before he can overthink it.

"Welcome back bakers, we have an exciting Technical Challenge for you today set by Kyla. Kyla, any parting words for our bakers?" Alexis twists and turns as she says her opening lines.

"Trust me," she says cryptically before leaving the tent with Bruno.

"Enjoy your jazzercise!" Alexis calls after them.

“For this Technical Challenge Bruno and Kyla would like for you to please make a Pavlova,” David says, trying to act like he's having less fun than he is. There was just something about this damn show.

“That’s right, you may be familiar with the Australian meringue-based dessert, but this one needs to be egg-free!” Alexis bounces her little arms in front of her.

“Even your whipped cream needs to be dairy free. You have two and a half hours for this challenge. On your marks.”

“Get set!”

“Baaaake!”

David has had Pavolva before – in five-star restaurants in Melbourne and Sydney, no less – and honestly, he’s never thought about how it was made. Aquafaba in place of egg whites sounds so…unappetizing. But also, so did sugared egg whites to be honest. Once the bakers actually get their mixers going, and the beautiful white peaks start forming, he has to take back his initial criticism. And he has to trust, as Kyla asked, that the judges and producers would not have set a task that was never going to work.

He hated to think it again, but the tent was rather quiet this afternoon. The bakers were busily working away, concentrating hard on their tasks as if a lot was riding on it…and he supposed there was. The semi-finals would start taping on Monday! This whole thing was going to be over in just eight days. He would be leaving this place in nine days. Fuck. What was he going to do?

That little realization spurs David to wander up and down the tent, surveying the quiet chaos. Soon most of the bakers have their meringue layers in their ovens. Apparently, they needed to be cooked at a lower temperature for a longer time to dry them out. Whatever, that wasn’t his area. Several of them take a sort of break, sitting on the floor, staring through the oven door.

He visits Hannah first. She’s shaped hers in an oval and it’s nearly too wide for the racks. She gives him a spare raspberry before he moves on.

Next, he checks on Dustin who isn’t sitting on the ground at his oven. Instead, he’s working on the whipped coconut cream which he’s worried about getting right and having it chilled enough for application to the meringue.

Samantha and Elie are whispering their doubts to each other over Elie’s work top. They both keep popping up and down to check their ovens and David tries to give them some encouraging words, while also agreeing that this was “so weird.”

Lastly, David crouches next to where Patrick is sitting staring into his oven window. “What have we got here?” he teases quietly.

“Bit of a meringue,” Patrick nods and looks at him sideways.

“Wha-” David blinks. “Was that a _Four Weddings and a Funeral_ reference?”

Patrick continues nodding and smiles softly.

“Well, aren’t you full of surprises,” David sits properly on the floor next to him, settling in until Marie asks him to do the time check with Alexis at the front of the tent.

\-----

His Pavlova was dead center on the table today, and Patrick is seated on the far left, with Elie at his side. He felt pretty confident in it – for a thing he’d never eaten or made before. He had made meringue and whipped cream of course, just with the proper dairy ingredients and then not paired together. It seemed to take an age and a half to get through them all and everyone seemed to get the same review; one or two issues, but overall good. So, this could go either way really.

“In last place we have this one,” Bruno says indicating Dustin’s plate. Slightly more over done than the others, could have included more cream.

“In fourth place is this one,” Kyla gestures to the far end of the table – Samantha’s plate. Meringue was a little too sweet, too much cream.

“And third place is this one,” Bruno steps to the center of the table, Patrick’s plate.

Oh.

Patrick raises his hand, slightly defeated. Bruno tells him the meringue could have used two more minutes in the oven. He tunes out the reviews for the last two, but he registers that Elie’s was second and Hannah’s is first. It feels oddly both nice and terrifying that all five bakers were so close on this one.

The typical wrap-up interviews happen fairly quickly after the judge and mingle. So, Patrick has a full two hours to dwell about coming middle of the pack and at the same time get delightfully anxious about having dinner with David.

David is three minutes late. Patrick shouldn’t be shaking so much, but his knee hasn’t stopped bouncing under the table since he sat down. Two minutes later, David breezes in the door and scoots into the bench opposite him. The tight white jeans he’s wearing should be illegal.

“Sorry I’m late,” David half whispers, “Lucy who does my hair for the show gave me a touch up before I left and asked me if I wanted to know where my grey hairs are. So, I’ve been on that journey for hours now, thank you so much, Lucy.”

“Room for one more there?” Dustin appears at the side of their booth, slapping a hand on David’s shoulder.

“Oh, sorry, mate.” Patrick says quickly. “We’re actually going to be reviewing some legal stuff for David’s…um, property.”

“Ah, a working dinner. Understood, carry on,” he walks away and finds others from the show at a table further along.

“That was close,” David grins, opening the giant menu in front of him. Patrick almost laughs at the pages that just keep unfurling. “I would kiss you, but we’re not doing that right now.”

“Ahem, yeah. Yeah, I think it’s for the best…for now,” Patrick nods and studies his own menu, not actually reading any of the words. He hasn’t been this nervous since the night he lost his virginity. Best not to think about that right now.

“I didn’t realize you actually had business to discuss,” David says between sips of harvest smoothie.

“Oh, well, we hadn’t had a chance to really, um, hang out since you told me about owning the town.” Patrick opens the documents on his laptop and scoots his drink further away for safety. “And I wasn’t sure what…um, agenda you had for dinner tonight. So.”

“So, you came prepared with a presentation. Look at you, busy bee.” David’s grin makes Patrick feel both idiotic for doing this extra work and also ridiculously turned on.

“Okay, well, as far as I can tell, your power over the town is limited and really incumbent on the Mayor, Roland. Have you met him yet?”

They sit in comfort, discussing the details of the deed and Roland’s idiosyncrasies. When that’s exhausted, they move on to other topics, whether they could go full vegan forever, the remaining bakers, the other townies, and the closing General Store. 

“They really should have leaned more into the local and regional exclusive goods. Stuff that people in this town love – the Amish butter – and make it easier to obtain. With a mark-up of course.”

“Of course,” Patrick agrees.

“It’s really a great little storefront. A classic small-town look, you know? That’s the brand.” David is turned, gazing out the café window, in his own little world. “You could do so much with a mix of mid-tier luxury and basic essential products. Someone should buy that place and turn it around.”

“Yeah, someone should,” Patrick says pointedly. Because now that he’s not hindered by the din of the bar and however-many beers, a lightbulb has just illuminated in his brain. He has tried very hard not to think about the fact that despite owning the town, David doesn't live here. He'll roll out of town the moment the show wraps and all of this - the kissing and the flirting and the companionship - has an expiration date. So he'll forgive himself if he grasps at one straw to keep David in his life a tiny bit longer.

“Hmm?” David turns back to him at last.

“Between tonight and that night at the bar, you’ve just said _a lot_ about what that store should be. …It’s just…as owner of the town, you have a say in what that store _could actually_ be.”

“But-” David stammers. “Wha- I mean. That’s not-.” He deflates a little, casting his gaze around like he’s looking for help or excuses.

“I know Schitt’s Creek isn’t Manhattan,” Patrick reasons. “But I think I’ve heard you express a desire to… _not_ be in Manhattan. To take a break from…that.”

“I have said that, I suppose,” David concedes after a moment. He gapes at Patrick a little bit, leaning his body forward and back, his mind apparently wrestling with this idea, giving it a proper consideration.

It’s the first time in their conversation all evening that a silence has dragged on so long, and Patrick doesn’t know how to break it.

“I think I just…” David continues to fidget, “need some time with that idea.”

“Oh, of course,” Patrick insists.

“It’s…it’s an interesting one,” David smiles at last, and Patrick feels like he’s won the lottery.

\-----

The idea wasn’t a bad or foreign one. Maybe the whispers of it had been floating around in his brain since Stevie said, “sounded like you had a plan there” like, two weeks ago while they were shopping for wine. And hadn’t he been craving a plan? Hadn’t he needed the direction? But...how far was this town from the nearest Gucci outlet? Where would he live?! Was he insane?!

With ease, he’s able to put it out of his mind for the evening. Because, if he squinted, he was on a date with Patrick. Cute, sweet, nice, gentle, Patrick. Hopefully not too gentle, though. He could toss dough around after all. With any luck he could have David pressed against…literally any surface. God, he needed to get some. Mid-conversation in a public place was probably a bad time to have such a daydream.

By the time they finish their meal they are the last ones left in the restaurant. Twyla and George had turned most of the chairs onto the tables in a not-so-subtle sign that it was time to leave.

Their walk back to Patrick’s apartment is short, and David wishes there wasn’t the undercurrent of necessity in the task. He was still technically playing chaperone here, even if he was enjoying it immensely.

“Well, goodnight, Patrick,” he says lingering by the same hedge as last time.

Patrick twists on the spot, constantly moving in a nervous sort of dance. He leans forward suddenly, further into David’s space and stops. He lingers, with his cheek just level to David’s own, briefly synchronizing their deep inhales of breath.

“Goodnight, David,” he whispers finally, the sound tickling David’s ear and sending a jolt of arousal straight to his groin.

It seems to take great effort for Patrick to move his feet further up the pavement. But he does, and David watches him go. If David goes back to the motel and takes yet another shower to wash off the rest of the show makeup and ends up rubbing one out thinking about Patrick’s strong arms, that’s his business.

“Bakers, we kicked off this competition with show-stopping cakes, and we’re now asking you to harken back to those roots for this challenge.” David begins the morning taping.

“With the added complication of making it vegan, though!” Alexis interjects.

“Yes, the judges would like you to make a vegan celebration cake inspired by the one you made in Week One. It should again be at least two tiers and show off your decorating and construction skills.”

“We want yummy flavors and show stopping excellence. You will have four hours for this challenge. On your marks!”

“Get set.”

“Baaake!”

The judges don’t do interviews mid-bake this time around. They let the bakers get on with their tasks, but Bruno may do slow laps around the tent’s perimeter watching them closely. David thinks it’s kind of cruel and intimidating so he may act out a little with Alexis, playing games with the set decorations, wearing colanders as hats.

At the half-way point, everyone is mostly in control. Cakes are in ovens, bakers are piling up dirty dishes at the ends of the workstations like odd building blocks. Alexis hands David a handful of spoons and pulls him around to taste all of the different icings the bakers are preparing. The two vanilla ones are vastly different, and he’s not sure he can say which is better. Hannah’s citrus buttercream is a refreshing take, Dustin’s chocolate is better than he expected, and Patrick’s cream cheese icing is a surprising delight.

“You _made_ the vegan cream cheese?” Alexis gasps.

“Yeah, out of cashews and coconut cream,” Patrick says stirring his caramel.

“That’s amazing,” David whispers reverently, earning a radiant grin. He grabs Alexis’s arm and forces her to move away and let Patrick work.

“Five minutes left, bakers,” Alexis calls from the front of the tent.

“NO! No, no, no!” Samantha shouts suddenly. Her top tier is sliding off her cake and she’s desperately holding it in place. David rushes over to help even though he has no idea what he’s doing, it's pure instinct. She lets him hold the heavy cake while she searches for more support dowels, and now his hands are completely covered in icing, which bothers him less than he expected. After another few seconds Patrick is at his side, helping him hold it up and simultaneously showing Samantha where to place the supports. They get it to a sturdy place, but it looks a bit of a mess.

“Fill it in,” Patrick is whispering and pointing, grabbing tools with his one clean hand for her. “Just smooth this bit out.”

“One minute!” Alexis’s voice comes from somewhere far away.

“You got it, you got it,” David rambles. His heart is beating so fast, empathetically anxious about the cake and the ticking clock.

“Here, here, here,” Patrick and Samantha work to repair the damage.

“Use your sprig,” David suggests, pointing to the spot they’re working on.

“TIME!” Alexis shouts and everyone seems to exhale at once.

Finally, able to breathe again, David and Patrick step back from Samantha’s cake. She sighs heavily because it’s still not…perfect. But it’s upright.

“That was intense,” David whispers to Patrick, walking with him back to his worktop to examine the state of his own cake. It's doing well, artfully decorated with caramel work, and his frosting hasn't melted an inch.

Patrick just laughs, because duh. Of course. That was just a taste of what they’ve all been doing for three weeks. The pressure was only going to get more intense next week for the semi-finals and finals!

“Hey,” David keeps his voice low, not sure what he’s going to do or say, but wanting Patrick to know…he gets it. “Good job,” he says finally and holds up a messy, frosting covered hand. Patrick grins and gives him a light high-five with his own sugar covered hand, so it doesn’t splatter everywhere.

“Thank you,” he says, shifting his fingers to interlace them with David’s. They stand there for another few seconds, grinning and holding on to each other’s hand tightly.

\-----

Patrick doesn’t really relax during the break before judging. He cleans up, he has a cup of tea and a bit to eat with everyone else. The producers keep assuring them that the finished cakes are doing well in the behind-the-scenes fridges while they shoot the “spinning cakes” B-roll.

Bruno and Kyla are generally pleased with the flavors of everyone’s cakes, having had them before. However, they are brutally honest with their reviews on decoration and construction. Patrick thinks he knows who’s at risk of going home, it could still be him, because he didn’t think he did the very best today. It was going to be close. Well, there were only five of them so of course it was going to be close.

“Congratulations bakers on making it through week six.” David begins from his place at the front of the tent. “You overcame a lot of vegan challenges this week, but you’ve pulled it off. I have the immense pleasure of announcing that today’s Star Baker is…”

Patrick holds his breath for some reason. It’s not going to be him. He’s sure it’s not him. Hannah grabs his left arm and Samantha grabs his right hand, holding on tightly. He notices out of the corner of his eye that Elie and Dustin are also linked up in their chain and it makes him smile.

“Elie!” David announces.

She gasps audibly a few stools a way and they squirm where they’re sitting to congratulate her quietly.

“That means I have the absolutely horrible job of announcing the baker going home today,” Alexis continues. “I’m so sorry…Samantha.”

Patrick keeps holding her hand, as she nods, and the tears start to fall. She said she knew it was coming after the disaster with the Showstopper. That doesn’t stop it from being a bit of a shock to hear it out loud, to know it's over for her. And with another week done, Patrick marvels at making it to the semi-finals. He lets himself feel just a bit of pride for maybe one minute.

“Okay, but like, can’t you just put it in the freezer?” Alexis asks, tapping the tips of her middle fingers on the bar top, punctuating her words.

“That doesn’t always work,” Patrick explains the nuances of working with caramel and other melted sugar-based decorations.

There were only a few of them out this week so it was much more chill vibe at the Wobbly Elm tonight. People were still hell-bent on besting Hannah at pool, just once. Stevie wasn’t in attendance, apparently “hooking up” with Jake – he's a local woodworker he finds out, but Patrick’s never heard of him.

“Oh, there’s my date,” Alexis says abruptly, looking up at the door.

“Your _what_?” David asks indignantly.

“My date,” Alexis hops off her stool and downs the rest of her drink.

“Who is this guy?!” David does a good impression of a prairie dog, craning his neck to see around her.

“It’s fine,” she brushes him off. “His name is Ted. He’s the local vet. I matched with him on Bumpkin last week and we've sort of been texting...and stuff.”

“What the fuck is Bumpkin?!” David gapes at her.

“It’s this app for rural singles,” she says like he should know that already. “Bonnie showed me before she left. See you laters!”

“She’ll be fine,” Patrick assures David when he turns back around. “Ted’s a really nice guy.”

“Okay, but is Ted going to be fine?!” David gesticulates wildly. “Alexis will eat him alive and steal his car.”

“He rides a motorcycle,” Patrick smirks at David’s concern.

“Not helping. She can drive one of those.” David finishes his drink, and they order one last round falling into comfortable quiet conversation.

“So, listen,” Patrick says, nursing the dregs of his beer to match David’s pace. “I’m not sure if you had any plans for this weekend or not, but, um, I think I should stay in and practice my patisserie.”

“Oh, sure,” David straightens his back and nods soberly.

“Actually, I mean…do you maybe want to come over to my apartment and hang out while I bake?” Patrick plucks up the courage to look right at David. “You can be my official taste tester.”

“Hmmm,” David smiles warmly. “Yeah, I can do that. …Usually when a cute guy invites me over to his apartment it means I’m going to get laid,” David winks.

Patrick half chokes on his ill-timed swallow of beer.

“Sorry, sorry, sorry,” David whispers, patting him unhelpfully on the shoulder. “It was a joke! I take it back.”

Yeah, it did usually mean that, and he’d be lying if he wasn’t thinking about it when he made the offer. But for some unknown, stubborn reason he has to remain firm in his insistence of taking this slow. Even if he only has seven more days with David. He would spend them all cleaning storm drains or some other slightly disgusting menial job - as long as David was there with him.

“No, no. …Ahem, I’m not… We don’t…” Patrick searches for the right words. “We don’t have to be total nuns about it,” he glances at David and smirks. He could bend the rule a little. It wouldn’t kill him. Hopefully.

Before David can come up with a witty retort, Patrick sees some of the others from the show make moves to leave, and he decides to go with them. He leans in close to David, being very careful not to touch him at all lest he change his mind.

“Sweet dreams, David,” he says in the lowest timbre he can manage before waltzing away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CONTESTANTS  
> Patrick Brewer – Schitt’s Creek, Ontario (Business consultant, townie)  
>  ~~Samantha Brown – Lethbridge, Alberta (Mom of three, barrister)~~  
>  ~~Kesha Carmack – Whitehorse, Yukon (Indigenous woman, works at the natural history museum in town)~~  
>  Elie Gagnon – Montreal, Quebec (Will pretend to only speak French to people she doesn’t like)*  
> Hannah Hamilton – Gander, Newfoundland (Black woman, school administrator)  
>  ~~Bonnie McMurray – Letterkenny, Ontario (Rural kid, bartender)~~  
>  Dustin Robertson – Vancouver, British Columbia (Retired accountant, has cats)  
>  ~~John Smith – Prince Albert, Saskatchewan (Retired school teacher, gay as a lark)~~  
>  ~~Fred Tupper – Egg Island, Manitoba (Uni student, social work major)~~  
>  ~~Sarah Wilson – Toronto, Ontario (Just out of college, trying to figure her life out)~~


	8. French Pâtisserie (Semi-Finals)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Choux better get ready for the semi-finals! There are (petit) four bakers left and only three will make it through to the finals. Hold on to your croquembouche because it's Pâtisserie week on The Great Canadian Baking Show.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trick or treat!
> 
> Patrick's apartment is the one in the show, so picture that layout and furniture.
> 
> She's a long one, this chapter.  
> Also, I'm sorry.  
> Also, I'm not sorry.

David wakes up naturally around 10am on Saturday. He hadn’t had too many drinks at the bar the night before, but enough to where he’s feeling slightly worse for wear. He should have had more water when he got back to the motel, but clearly, he wasn’t thinking straight.

Last-Night David did set a bottle of water on the nightstand, which means he doesn’t have to leave his bed just yet if he doesn’t want to. So, he settles in for a slow wake-up, reflexively scrolling through the usual morning social media content – former friends’ posts about which Manhattan gastropub or resto-bar they had gone to, the latest political news, and brands’ attempts at engagement.

It’s a picture of a friend-of-a-friend at an opening in what _used_ to be his gallery that really stops David in his tracks. The caption doesn’t say much, obviously the only thing this guy cared about sharing was the image of himself. But the familiar tall windows behind him, and industrial ceiling just visible in the corner of the picture makes him want to suddenly throw up. Not for the first time, he’s struck by the fact that this isn’t healthy behavior. So, he clicks the three dots in the top corner, and “unfollows” him. And then David goes to his own profile, opens the list of people he follows, and slowly purges. It takes about five minutes, and honestly, it’s a little painful. More than once he hovers over some ex’s profile picture (friend/lover/hook up,) wanting to click through, to open a wound and sort of spy on them, but at the same time not really wanting to see their face ever again.

When he’s all done, he’s about 200 “friends” lighter. To top things off, he sets his profile to private and removes permissions from everyone except his family and random acquaintances that aren’t connected to his New York life and that past scene. There’s finality in it all, and more than a little bit of relief.

Since he’s not getting laid today, David doesn’t do his entire Going Out routine. He showers and takes care of his skin and hair, of course, but he doesn’t put on cologne or dwell too much on his outfit. He opts for his black jeans and the first sweatshirt he touches (horizontal white stripes on a black field), with a basic white tee underneath. He doesn’t wear his Date Night underwear, which yes, he brought – because reasons. Anyone would think he looked totally relaxed, and casual. But of course, they would be wrong. Internally, he was far from it.

There were a multitude of worries swirling around in his brain as per usual. Would they have enough to talk about? What if the things Patrick was baking were terrible? What if he couldn’t keep his hands to himself and Patrick stopped liking him? All the usual stuff. It actually kept other worries from creeping up and overwhelming him, which would have to be a sort of blessing.

At noon on the dot, David pulls into the small lot next to the apartment building the bakers have been calling home. He counts to ten before turning off the car and counts to 20 before getting out to keep from appearing too eager. He’s outside of Patrick’s door at two minutes past and makes sure his knock is firm but not loud.

\---

“It’s open!” Patrick calls, wrist-deep in the beginnings of what will be puff pastry.

David opens the door slowly, like he’s scared of disturbing what’s on the other side. “Hello,” he says in an incredibly soft voice, and gingerly closes the door behind him.

“Why are you whispering?” Patrick laughs lightly.

“I wasn’t sure if anything was going to like, collapse,” David says in a more normal register, and steps further into the small galley kitchen.

Patrick pauses his flour and water incorporation to turn and look at David properly. How did he manage to look so effortlessly cool all the time? The thought makes him smile and when David leans in for a quick kiss on the cheek, he grins more broadly. This was going to be a fun ~~date~~ day.

“Hey, there,” Patrick says, wishing his hands weren’t covered in flour so he could reciprocate better.

“Heeey,” David lowers his voice again and curls a bit into himself in that strange but adorable way he had.

“Did Alexis get home okay?” He resumes incorporating small amounts of water into his dough.

“Mmm, yes, as far as I know she wasn’t murdered by the side of the road. Can’t vouch for Ted though.” David leans against the countertop surveying the detritus of foodstuffs. “So, I haven’t eaten yet in anticipation of…whatever it is you’re making.”

“Oh, were you expecting to be fed?” Patrick feigns surprise to tease him, but can’t keep it up when David’s face falls. “I’m kidding. There are mini quiches in the fridge if you want a bite, they’re better warm though. First set of macarons will be out in a few minutes. I’m making puff pastry right now for the maple-pecan Danishes, and once those are cooking, I’ll prepare the madeleines and the Religieuse à l'ancienne.”

“The what?”

“Little nuns,” Patrick grins. “Made of choux pastry, filled with crème? It's basically a form of éclair,” he adds at David’s visible confusion.

“That’s a lot,” David says, but he opens the fridge and finds a quiche right away. “What challenge were these from?”

“They weren’t,” Patrick says, not looking up from his forming dough.

“What do you mean?”

“I made them this morning. Just for fun.”

“Fun?!” David sounds offended. “It’s almost like you enjoy doing all this. Why haven’t I spent every weekend with you cooking for me?”

“I do enjoy doing all this,” Patrick laughs. “And…you could have, if you wanted to.” Honestly, Patrick’s torn between thinking that would have been great, and thinking that he never would have made it this far in the competition if he had been that distracted. It meant he would have spent more time with David…time that he was all too aware was running out.

David hovers while he eats the quiche, waiting to graze on things as they come out of the oven. The macarons don’t get fully sandwiched before he steals one and Patrick has to threaten him with a piping bag full of Saskatoon berry curd to get him to pause long enough to let Patrick practice putting the finishing touches on a few of them.

“David, I swear to God,” he warns, holding the piping bag up threateningly. Maybe it would carry more weight if he wasn’t smiling and laughing so much. David just grins and scoots away momentarily. As soon as Patrick returns to his task, David cheekily sneaks a hand around him to steal another half-made cookie.

In a flash, Patrick drops the bag and grabs David’s wrists. Using his stronger legs to his advantage, Patrick twists him around and presses him against the counter by the sink. The tiny “uh” that escapes David’s throat sounds obscene in the quiet apartment, and it sends a bolt of arousal right to Patrick’s cock. Fuck. It takes his brain three seconds to process the thought that he should move away and cool off. But David’s full lips are very close, and very, very tempting.

*DING*

The timer sounding, and the knowledge that his Danishes could burn if he doesn’t get them out of the oven right now, brings him back to himself. He releases David and steps reluctantly away. If he’s not mistaken the look on David’s face is one of disappointment.

“Ahem…where did you learn to do that?” David doesn’t resume his hovering, still leaning against the counter instead.

“I wrestled in high school,” Patrick can’t bring himself to look at David because if he does, he’s not sure he’ll be able to finish his bakes, and he really needs to perfect them. He knew today was going to be one huge distraction, but Patrick was a little masochistic sometimes. And the theory he rationalized to himself, was that it would simulate the level of distractions in the tent.

“Well that’s…” David says softly, trailing off.

“Can you please grab me a plate from the cupboard next to you?”

“Sure,” David hunts around and finds something suitable, placing it on the counter between them.

“Also, can you put on whatever playlist you want before I have a panic attack?” Patrick grins, tossing David back his own words from their outing last week. By now Patrick has learned a little more about David’s limits with teasing and it only takes a second for David’s face to change from shock to resignation.

They fall into a comfortable quiet for a while, letting David’s "Divas" playlist fill out the lulls in their conversations. David proves useful at crushing chocolate blocks and stirring various things. The best part is when something in a song moves him, and he shuffles and sways in time. God, Patrick could watch that forever.

“Okay, the rest of the nuns are cream-filled,” David says, wiggling his eyebrows and obscenely licking the traces of the white substance off his fingers in a blatant innuendo. Patrick realizes he probably deserves that, because he may or may not have stripped down to his undershirt half an hour ago with a little more enthusiasm than was warranted.

“Good job!” Patrick has already assembled like, eight of them, but he lets David have his minor victory.

“Oh my God, I love this song!” David says suddenly, grabbing his phone and turning up the volume. Something in the back of Patrick’s brain recalls the tune and supplies the lyrics to his mouth without really thinking about it.

 _“I call you when I need you my heart’s on fire,”_ he mumbles along. _“You come to me, come to me wild and wired. …Oh you come to me, give me everything I need..”_ He looks up to find David gaping at him. “What?”

“How do you know…”

“What? How do I know Tina Turner’s absolutely iconic cover? David, it may have taken me a while to come out, but I didn’t live under a rock! It’s one of the greatest love songs of all time. …In my humble opinion.” David’s surprised smile is all the encouragement Patrick needs to really belt along with the song. _“You’re simply the best! Better than aaallll the rest.”_

 _“Better than anyone. Anyone I’ve ever met.”_ David joins in, just as enthusiastically.

It’s silly and ridiculous and idiotic and he feels lighter than air as they sing about a kind of love that is all consuming. He doesn’t let the lyrics carry too much weight, he can’t. This is just for the moment. Just for goofing like teenagers at a sleepover, singing into their spatulas and spoons, dancing and bumping into each other, enjoying the moment and the connection to another human that he hadn’t realized just how much he needed.

 _“Oooh you’re the best!”_ The song fades out and something Patrick’s never heard of starts playing in its place. David apparently isn’t as enthusiastic about that one because he returns the phone to the volume it was previously.

“You’re a good singer,” David says, working on finally assembling his choux nuns. They look almost perfect and Patrick feels like he’s getting a little insight into how David operates creatively.

He wouldn’t last the first week in this competition – setting aside the fact that David has apparently never baked or cooked a thing in his life. No, David would be eliminated simply because he would spend far too much time worrying about every little finishing detail. Patrick’s ability to say something was "good enough" and move on, has served him well so far.

“And you’re really good with that icing,” Patrick says finally. “Their little collars and hats are perfect.”

David smiles with his lips pressed firmly together and Patrick makes it his mission to find out how to get a big toothy grin out of him.

“Are you on social media?” David asks absently. They’re both slumped on the couch, feet up on the coffee table. At some point David had felt comfortable enough to take off his shoes. He occasionally does this flex thing with his toes, which is just distracting as hell.

Why was that weird thing so hot?

“Uh, some,” Patrick says with a little trepidation.

“I just…I recently unfollowed a whole bunch of people I never want to see again, so I need more content in my feeds.”

“Oh. Um. Right,” he tries not to get a little hopeful that that implies David wants to see him again. “Well, I started an Instagram when I moved here, but I haven’t kept up with it.” There were really only pictures of sunrises over fields that he had taken on a morning run or two. And a few shots of the view from the top of the hill he liked to hike on the weekends. There was an odd cow or goat of course. Nothing of substance. By design.

“That’s okay, give me your handle, I’ll follow you.” David leans closer, angling his screen so Patrick can see if he types it correctly. Their shoulders are touching and it just…it just feels nice. He could sit like this all day.

“’Kay. Um, brewerpatrick87 all one word. B-r-e-w- yup that one.” Patrick points out his avatar.

“Mmm, only a dozen posts means it’s going to be tough for me to cyber stalk you,” David nudges him playfully, but Patrick wonders if he’s 100 percent kidding.

He opens the app on his phone too, bringing up the notification that he has a new follower. “Oh. It says your account is private…can…can I follow you back?” he asks sheepishly, trying not to be self-conscious about his meager 10 followers all of whom were family, or Ray.

David turns his face just a bit more toward Patrick. “Yes, definitely,” he breathes. Were they always sitting this close? Their upper arms were fully touching, and David was still angled toward him. God, he could get lost for days in those deep chocolate eyes.

*DING*

Saved by the bell, Patrick thinks stupidly.

The madeleines have the correct height hump, and it only takes a few minutes to get their white chocolate and raspberry decoration added. When they’re cool enough to eat, he brings a few back to the couch to share. This was far too much sugar for one day, but oh, well. How often did Patrick get to hang out with his crush and openly flirt over food uninterrupted. Never. This has been the only time in his life, actually.

“Can’t help but notice the berry ones are gone and you haven’t had any more of the Earl Grey macarons,” Patrick says settling into the couch again. “Should I be worried?”

“Oh,” David grimaces. “Yeah, no, I have a child’s palate. They’re not my favorite. Sorry.”

“Good thing you’re not a judge on a baking show,” Patrick chuckles, honestly not offended. The bergamot flavor wasn’t for everyone.

“There’s a reason why I have _absolutely_ no influence,” David grabs a madeleine right away. “Alexis and I are just supposed to stand there and look pretty. …And provide comic relief, I guess.”

“Well, you definitely succeed at one of those,” Patrick looks sideways at him and tries to hide his smile.

David finishes chewing before breathlessly saying, “…Okay, I honestly don’t know which you think is true, and I’m super anxious to hear which one I _don’t_ achieve for you.”

Patrick lets himself grin fully and leans in close to David again, nudging him gently with his shoulder. “I’m kidding.”

“Mmm, you’re a comedian too, I guess,” David resumes eating the perfectly cakey cookies like they were going out of style.

Patrick lets the implication that he thinks David's pretty just hang in the air.

He can’t remember whose suggestion it was to put on a movie, but somehow, they end up watching _Chocolat_ \- purely for research. Once the sugar wears off, they order a pizza from Patrick’s favorite place and put on _Julie & Julia_…again, for research. It’s all very comfortable and cozy, talking about the goddess that is Meryl Streep, and that one time Alexis and her friends almost sank Jonny Depp’s yacht in Cannes.

But Patrick remains all too aware of how little time he has left to do…all this. He tries not to think about having to move back into Ray’s spare bedroom, or about filing endless paperwork and managing things he didn’t really have his heart invested in. This magical little show had brought him so much joy and connection and all of that would be fading away much too soon. The resolve on his blurted out rule about going glacially slow was basically gone. Maybe he wasn't ready last week, but he is now. He should seize the opportunity while he has it literally sitting in this apartment.

“I had fun today,” David says, standing much too close to Patrick in his kitchen/dining area.

It’s late, they should have wrapped up this…not a date, um, chill session? Anyway, it got dark outside an hour ago which meant it was much later than he thought.

“So did I,” Patrick says, dipping his head nervously. “Thank you…for your unfiltered critiques on everything.”

“Mmm, it was _such_ a hardship,” David’s eyes are intense and sparkling.

Neither of them moves, obviously reluctant to really put a cap on whatever this had been. It could be five seconds or five years that they just stand there, looking at each other. Finally, something in Patrick’s brain or body inches him forward, tells him to take what he so desperately wants. He’s not thinking. He’s not in control of any of his motor functions and his veins are radiating energy as he finds David’s lips with his own, so, so, sweetly.

Someone takes a loud inhale of breath, maybe they both do. And maybe Patrick’s hands are gripping David at the nape of his neck, pulling him in, keeping him close. Maybe their lips and tongues have minds of their own because all Patrick knows is that this feels good. Kissing David like this feels sooo good. Like he’s drowning in it, free falling off a cliff. Maybe the room is spinning and maybe he presses David against the wall by the door to keep his balance. Maybe his thighs bracket David’s legs, just a little. Just so he can feel his…

“Stop,” David gasps, tilting his chin up. “We should stop.”

Patrick stills, mouth at David’s collarbone, catching his breath. He would step back and give him space, but David’s large hands are holding him very, very firmly by the hips, fingertips just ghosting under his t-shirt. God, he was strong. How would it feel to be manhandled by him…just a bit…

“Okay,” Patrick pants in agreement, coming to his senses, respecting David’s wishes.

“Fuck,” David whispers, gazing down at Patrick, pupils blown wide, his hair a little mussed.

Oh, how Patrick would kill to run his fingers through it properly. Did he look just as turned-on? Just as disheveled? He hoped so.

“Fuck,” David says again a little louder this time, sending a renewed little bolt of arousal right to Patrick’s cock.

Loosening their grips, they still don’t make any immediate movements to separate, just holding each other gently while their heartbeats return to a more reasonable rhythm. It takes a full minute to feel remotely composed, and Patrick finally takes a step back and opens the door for good measure.

“Goodnight, David,” his voice is still rough and quiet, and he feels a little pride at the hungry look David gives him.

“Goodnight, Patrick,” David presses their foreheads together quickly and exits before anything else can happen.

Before David is probably even fully in his car, Patrick is in his shower, slicking up his hand with body wash and stroking the hardest erection he’s ever had. After eight hours of foreplay, he's too geared up. He comes embarrassingly quickly, thinking of David firm against him, and his velvety, full lips on his. Damn.

Sunday was going to take forever.

\----

The auxiliary tent was warm this morning. Too warm. David abandoned his sweater immediately, not wanting to over-work his deodorant this early. With so few cast members now, they all mill around mostly together, popping in and out of conversations as they get called for different pre-show tasks.

Patrick comes back from taping an interview, seeing David for the first time that morning. His small smile makes David almost sweat, and he watches him closely as Patrick greets the various members of the crew he hadn’t seen yet. Some of the more friendly assistants get half-hugs, one arm across their shoulders while he balances his paper cup of tea in his other hand. Alexis chirps a good morning at him and opens her arms for a hug as well. David tries not to let the anticipation get to him, tries to remain calm and his cock under control. But after Patrick steps away from Alexis, what is he going to do? Will they embrace in front of everyone? Like it’s nothing? Like they haven’t been secretly flirting and kissing and almost, almost touching?

Unfortunately, he never finds out because now it’s David’s turn to be called away.

“Bonjour bakers,” Alexis puts on a fairly amusing French accent. “Bienvenue to our tent for our French Pâtisserie semi-final.”

“At the end of this week’s challenges there will only be three of you making it through to our finale. Bruno and Kyla want to see perfectly executed, intricately decorated, and above all delicious bakes from you this week.”

“No pressure!” Alexis does a little shimmy, her jewelry jingling softly. “Your Signature challenge today is 24 macarons. Bruno and Kyla would like to see two flavors, with a finish fit for royalty.”

“No pressure!” David echoes. “You have three hours. On your marks!”

“Get set!”

“Cuirez!”

The tent has never been quieter while all the bakers set to work. Alexis does the interview rounds with the judges, getting everyone to say briefly what their flavors are, and critiquing their choices. After that, David and Alexis try to stay out of the bakers’ way while they do their additional rounds. Dustin is doing matcha and pumpkin, Elie’s going with a traditional chocolate and pistachio, Hannah is doing a safe lemon and a bold ginger macaron. David already knows the flavors Patrick is doing, so he just breezes by his workstation in the back-row stage right and steals a lick of the Saskatoon berry curd that he knows is the filling. Perfect.

Sometimes it’s difficult to know what the judges really think of the bake and the flavors. David understands intellectually that they have to be harsh critics looking at who was going into the finale, but he wishes they weren’t _so_ harsh. They tell Elie in so many words that she should have tried harder. Hannah’s flavor combo is questioned. They outright did not like Dustin’s matcha and his pumpkin one was apparently underwhelming. Patrick gets told he should have thought about the finishing touches a bit more.

The break between bakes is _tense_. None of the bakers say much while they eat lunch, they are pulled in different directions for things by production assistants as usual and then scurry away from the tent to stay outside in the sun as much as possible until they’re called back for places and action.

“Welcome back to the tent, bakers,” David begins. “Today’s Technical Challenge has been set for you by Bruno.”

“He says it’s his favorite, so you better not mess it up,” Alexis does her blink-wink and juts her hip out.

“As you know this challenge is judged blind so off you go, judges.” David shoos at Bruno and Kyla who leave with silent smiles.

“What are they up to today?” Alexis asks him cheekily.

“Mani-pedis,” David doesn’t miss a beat.

“Ooo Bruno’s gonna look so good with some French tips and his open-toed sandals,” Alexis jokes.

The remaining bakers chuckle to themselves and David feels a little better, a little less anxious for them. He feels his own smile growing as he surveys them for a second, lingering and holding Patrick’s gaze a moment longer.

“Okay, so today you’ll be making Le Kouign amann a dessert from the Breton region.” He does his best to wrap his mouth around the vowel and soft consonants. Alexis is the best linguist in his family, but he tries.

“This is like, the yummiest thing you’ll ever eat. I spent a summer in Saint-Brieuc and there was this café…” Alexis gets a dreamy, far off look for a second. “ _Anyway_ , it’s like a flaky, gooey croissant buttery cake. Yum, yum, bakers.”

“Please never say ‘yum, yum’ like that again. You have two and a half hours for this challenge. On your marks.”

“Get set!”

“Cuirez!”

\----

Patrick is a deer in headlights. This is…what is this? What was it called again? His years of French in school are failing him in this moment. He looks around at his fellow remaining bakers…the fact that he can count them on one hand and not need all his fingers is surreal. They are all glancing around too, making nervous faces at each other before scouring the recipe sheet for clues.

The laminated page before him is not as helpful as he’d hoped. Butter, sure. Flour, sugar, of course. Yeast? A yeasted cake. But a croissant. What the flip was this going to be like? Patrick puts his head down and works for the next few hours. He has to trust his instincts to laminate the dough properly. He has to trust that Bruno and Kyla wouldn’t try to trick them into making something that required an ancient or obscure technique. None of it makes him feel calm and in control.

In the end, he pulls out a flaky, sugary, cake-croissant thing. Is this right? Is it? It looks too brown. He places it on the gingham table second from the left and can’t help sizing up Dustin’s which is much paler, and Hannah’s which doesn’t appear as cakey. Did he miss something? How did none of their bakes look the same? This was going to be a disaster.

He exits the tent while it’s being re-set and tries to sip some water from the catering station. If he breathes, he’ll get through this. He checks his phone for messages out of habit, he hasn’t received a work email in over a week, and that feels fine. Normal. But he’s surprised to see a text from his mom had come in during the Technical.

_Mom (Marcy Brewer ICE): Hello darling, I’m sure you’re busy with the competition but I wanted to let you know that I saw Rachel today at Shopper’s. She looks good. Have you called her recently? Love you._

Perhaps this wasn’t the best time to be reading his messages because something about it…something about her not-at-all-subtle hint about his ex-fiancée makes him want to snap. He’s not angry, but at the same time he is, and he’s not thinking clearly like, at all. But he doesn’t know this yet, because without hesitation he starts to type out…

_Patrick: No, mom. I’m not going to call her because I’m gay._

Then he stops, thumb hovering over the “send” arrow, he stares at the words reading and re-reading and imagining his mother standing in his childhood home. He shouldn’t be doing this. Not this way, not right now while he’s stressed. The words get deleted as quickly as they were typed out and then he’s being called back into the tent for judging and he puts it out of his mind...for now.

Thinking of his mother has reminded Patrick to sit up a little straighter on his stool. She was going to be proud of him no matter which place he finished in, but she’d have words about his posture for sure. As soon as the judging starts Elie grabs his right hand, and Hannah his left, Dustin joining on to her on the other side. They sit in rapt silence, linked like that while Bruno and Kyla taste and critique everything.

“In fourth place,” Kyla says finally, “is this one.” Dustin raises his free hand reluctantly. “Very underdone, you knew that.”

“In third place,” Bruno says slowly, “is this.” Hannah releases Patrick just long enough to raise her hand. “We lost the lamination in some of the layers. Not the best.”

Kyla steps forward again and Patrick’s whole body freezes. He had broken his streak of always coming in second in the Technical. Would it strike him again now? He so desperately wanted to make it to the final, he could sob from it.

“In second place,” Kyla seemed to be moving in slow motion, “this one.”

“Moi,” Elie grins raising her free hand and gripping Patrick tighter in congratulations.

Alexis’s high-pitched gasp stings Patrick’s ears. He doesn’t hear anything, doesn’t even hear Bruno announce his as first place. All he registers is being held in place on his stool and Bruno pointing at his plate while smiling and moving his mouth. And joy. Unabashed joy.

The mob of congratulations is small only due to the few number of them left in the tent, but the enthusiasm felt the same. It didn’t guarantee it, but it was a _huge_ step to being a finalist. Top three. He could do that. He rides on a high as he’s pulled away for a debrief interview outside.

“How do you feel?” Marie asks him, standing next to the camera operator.

“Oh my…” Patrick stumbles, “So good. Really happy with the result.”

“What do you think your chances are for the final?”

“Hopeful. I’m hopeful that was enough to push me through.”

Maria wraps him up quickly after that, having gotten the soundbite they needed, so he wanders back to the tent taking off his apron, knowing he has to wait for Hannah, Elie and Dustin to do their wrap interviews. When he reaches them all, he notices Alexis and David getting into a car, ready to leave and Patrick’s stomach drops. He hadn’t gotten to say anything, hadn’t even looked at the one person he really wanted to share this moment with.

On the drive back to their apartments, Patrick finally checks his phone again. He’s surprised to find a message notification for his IG inbox.

David_Rose: Didn’t get to tell you congratulations. Realized I don’t have your number. Here’s mine: 212.867.5309

It takes all his energy to wait until he gets back to his apartment to use the number David had given him, and a mini panic attack as he wavers about if he should text or call. Text. People like David never answered their phones for a voice call, he decides.

_Patrick: Thank you. Sorry I missed you too._  
_Patrick: This is Patrick btw._

_David: Patrick who?_  
_David: Just kidding._

_Patrick: Now I’m not going to make an extra nun for you tomorrow._

_David: !!! That’s cruel._

_Patrick: What’s cruel is the way you licked the cream out of the center of the macarons this morning._

_David: Oh?_

_Patrick: David, you know exactly what you were doing._

_David: Well, I’m glad it worked._

_Patrick: One of these days I’ll get you back for that._

_David: I look forward to it._

_Patrick: Goodnight, David._

_David: Goodnight, Patrick. Good luck tomorrow._

\----

David doesn’t really sleep again, but he’s fairly used to that existence, never truly able to turn his brain off. All of it is related to anxiety about the show – empathy for the bakers, playing his part correctly and professionally, and the ever-present ticking clock. So, in the morning he’s quiet and reserved, sitting by himself drinking the cappuccino Patrick had dropped off to him earlier, while Alexis schmoozes everyone. She's such a natural at it. Patrick looks like a snack in his chambray button up. If he was anywhere else – in his old gallery job, or that summer he spent bartending in Ibiza – he would walk right up to him and just start making out...in front of everyone…at 8am. But he’s not doing that. He’s not really that person. He actually _respects_ Patrick and wants to honor his boundaries.

It’s a little unnerving.

“Bonjour mon boulanger et ma boulangère,” Alexis begins. “Here we are in our last semi-final challenge.”

“Only this Showstopper stands between you and the final,” David continues. Their dialogue was much more business-like for the day, matching the tone and tension of the moment, he supposed.

“Today Bruno and Kyla would like for you to create 36 entremets for us, s’il vous plaît.”

“Your entremets should be three different varieties. They should be small and delicate, and most of all, delicious.”

“You’ll have four hours for this challenge. On your marks, get set!”

“Cuirez!”

The air of the tent is already thick with the importance of the day. David can’t imagine what Thursday and Friday will hold. He tries to hang around Alexis as much as possible as a buffer to the heavy reality of the situation. When he does the interview rounds with the judges he plasters on a supportive smile and leaves everyone with a “good luck.”

\-----

“Une heure remaining!” Alexis calls from somewhere in the front.

It seems like cameras and crew are everywhere. There are more of them than there are on-camera folks. Patrick’s timer beeps and it causes a small flurry of action as they reposition to film him taking a tray out of his oven.

“Pleased with that,” he nods for the camera, shifting the pastry from the pan to a plate. “Pleased with that.”

“Dix minutes, mes amies!” David’s voice shouting over the din of the tent should not be so arousing, especially with so many cameras around.

“It’s not set!” Elie is shouting in front of him.

“What’s not set?” Patrick’s hands are shaking too much for any precision and his little blobs of icing have to be good enough.

“Zis bloody chocolat coating!”

Patrick dares to peak at what she means and just sees the little pools of chocolate on her worktop.

“Merde! Merde! Merde! What am I going to do?!” she is full-on panicking and he feels bad, but also good that he’s not having a last-minute disaster.

“Fridge!” Patrick almost shouts at her. “Fridge and pray!”

“C’est fini, bakers!” Alexis shouts over the noise.

That’s it. That’s all they can do. Patrick doesn’t recognize the noise that escapes his own throat. It’s something like relief, a lot like exhaustion. Whatever it is ends up being a siren, calling over his fellow bakers into a group huddle for a moment.

The judging starts and ends much too quickly, he thinks later. He’s pretty sure he got generally good reviews, he remembers smiling and not feeling terrible. But now that he’s sat on the stools again, waiting for the final reveal, he can hardly remember anything from the day. Was that a trauma related condition? This whole thing was a type of on-going shock to the system.

“Bakers,” David begins, his grin setting off his dimples beautifully, calming Patrick not-at-all. “You have made it through the semi-finals.”

“Yes, hugest félicitations, everyone!” Alexis claps just the tips of her fingers together. “I have the pleasure of revealing that today’s Star Baker, and our first finalist is…Patrick!”

What? How?

If winning the Technical challenge was a surprise, this was ten-fold that. Had he? Really? He was…he made it. He was through. Oh, damn. Elie was almost cutting off the blood to his hand, but yes, all their happy faces directed at him seemed to indicate he was through to the final. Holy sh-.

“And that means I have the unfortunate job of announcing who will not be joining us next week," David continues. "And that baker is…Dustin.”

“S’okay, s’okay,” Dustin says being consoled by Hannah who was closest to him, quickly followed by literally everyone else.

Patrick wants to jump and shout and scream because he’s through. He’s really done it. He hugs his fellow bakers and wants to pounce on David right there, but of course, he doesn’t. He settles for shaking hands much too long. There are things to wrap up, like final interviews which he’s whisked away to do as soon as they turn the set lights off.

“That feels…wow,” he doesn’t even have to be prompted by Marie this time. “Y’know, coming first in the Technical felt good a few weeks ago, but getting first in Technical _and_ Star Baker in the semi-finals? The best. Could not have asked for a better result.”

“Do you want to call and tell anyone?” Marie asks, just as she had done before.

“Yes!” he finds himself saying. He wants to tell the world!

“Great,” Marie hands him his phone. “Your parents or someone else?”

Oh, crap. Suddenly his blood feels frozen in his veins. _Did_ he want to call anyone? It sort of seemed like he had to now. “Um, yeah,” he says dialing his parents, his mind utterly blank for what to say.

“Hello, darling,” his mother’s cheerful familiar voice reminds him to smile at least. “How’s it going?”

“Mom, hi!” And without a preamble, he finds himself saying, “I, um, I just got Star Baker.”

“Oh my Gosh!” Marcy Brewer was not a loud woman but her enthusiasm for her son’s accomplishments came across perfectly. “Oh my Gosh, are you through? Are you a finalist?!”

“Yes,” Patrick can’t help but laugh.

“CLINT! Pat’s through to the final! He’s on the phone! Hold on, he’s here. Say it again.”

“I’m a finalist,” he says dutifully, grinning for the camera. He catches sight of David over Marie’s shoulder and his mouth is moving before he can stop it. “And mom? Dad? There’s something else.”

“What is it, pal?” his father’s low, steady voice somehow spurs him on.

“I’m gay,” he states with determination, unsure if he’ll ever take a breath again. He’s looking at Marie just because she’s there and her eyes turn into saucers. Even the camera guy's eyebrows are raising. He couldn’t say how long the silence lasted but it felt like a century. Oh, crap.

“Oh! Sweetheart.” his mother sounds more confused than upset. Is that a win?

“Okay,” his father says with absolutely no readable tone at all.

“Yeah,” Patrick has to fill the momentary silence again. He can hear their brains buffering over the phoneline. He finally notices that Marie is gesturing wildly at him, her eyes shifting to the camera pointedly. “I gotta go, but…I love you guys.”

“We love you too, honey. _So_ much. Congratulations.”

He rings off quickly and Marie excuses him, still obviously taken aback by his bold move. The walk to where everyone else is standing feels like it’s entirely uphill. Why is he having such trouble breathing? Why is his heart rate so high? For unknown reasons he makes a beeline toward David who is standing a little apart from everyone else and at first looks elated to see him. But as their eyes meet, his expression changes immediately to concern.

“What’s wrong?” he asks quietly.

Patrick has to swallow the giant rock that is somehow lodged in his throat because he’s suddenly just realized the gravity of what he’s done. “I don’t think this is what they mean by gay panic, but it’s close to what’s happening right now.” He folds his arms firmly in front of his chest and when that feels too constrictive, shoves them in his pockets instead.

“What?” David whispers, stepping closer and more in front of Patrick to keep his focus.

“I came out to my parents, like, just now and I honestly can’t tell what’s making me more anxious, that fact or this competition.”

“Oh! Oh.” David glances around as if for assistance or cover, but everyone is either too far away or busy with some task. “Okay. Okay, take a walk with me...over there,” he points toward the tree line in the distance.

When they get about 100 meters away David stops him with a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“Do you want to tell me what happened?”

“I just blurted it out. On the phone. When I told them about Star Baker. Oh, my God. Oh, God, I can’t believe I did that,” Patrick holds his own face in his hands to keep from shaking apart. Or laughing. Why does he feel like _laughing_ right now?

“And how did they take it?” David’s eyes are wide and nervous, and Patrick just wants to kiss him. Wants to assure him that everything will be alright. It was, right? Was it?

“I have no idea. Fine, I think?” They hadn’t had much of a reaction to be honest. “The call was so short I didn’t really give them time to say anything.” And at that he does laugh. He lets his face break into the grin that had been threatening his cheeks and feels the joy and the light that this admission has brought.

“Okay, we’ll gloss over how this wasn’t the most conventional or opportune time for coming out and skip to celebrating with you.” David places gentle hands on his shoulders. “You’re laughing and grinning so I’m assuming you feel good about this?”

“I do. It’s so weird, but I do. It’s like a weight’s been lifted, y’know?”

“Well, then I’m happy for you. Congratulations, Patrick, this has been a big day.”

\------

Celebratory drinks at the café involves most of the crew and half the town and David finds himself enjoying it. Enjoying watching how they interact and mix, appreciating their shared experience and most of all feeling like he was somehow in the right place.

That was never a thing that he felt when he was going to bars or clubs in Manhattan. Those two months he spent burning himself out after dropping everything at his gallery…well, he didn’t really _know_ the people he was hanging out with. Their numbers were saved in his phone as, “Brian – E hookup” and “Sasha - penthouse infinity pool.” But now, he knew people’s last names – Twyla Sands tended to overshare about her extended family, and Ronnie Lee was a town council member/handywoman. They had actual jobs that weren’t being secretly funded by their parents. Actually, in most of his past acquaintances’ cases, their parents’ financial support was probably not a secret at all, and they felt no qualms about that. David, however, had _some_ sense of shame. At least about this.

The fact that he _owned_ this town was still so weird to think about. But there was a strange comfort in knowing some of its residents, and pieces of their lives. Such a shame that there were only three and half days left for him here.

In the café he doesn’t feel the pressure to indulge as much as he had at the local bar. Not even Stevie can get him to take a polar bear shot…at first.

“Shots on a Tuesday are so incorrect!” he protests.

“We’ll do it!” Alexis coos from her seat at the table next to him. They had adopted a semi-spread out configuration, mixing cast and crew and townies. Ted the vet from Bumblekins (or whatever it was called), sitting next to her with his hand covertly stroking her knee under the table, is apparently a perfectly fine human. Well, he could be a writer for the show with his bad puns, but he at least doesn’t seem like a serial killer.

“Moi aussi,” Elie raises her hand.

“Okay, me too,” Hannah agrees.

“Patrick needs one too. Shots for all the finalists!” Alexis declares with her usual persuasive attitude.

“No pressure,” Patrick shrugs, finishing off his beer. He’s perpendicular to David at their square table and their elbows and knees have been bumping all night. God, he loved this part, the flirting, the teasing. Getting Patrick into bed was going to be…mmm, he couldn’t wait.

Twyla brings over a tray of shots which Stevie helps dole out.

“Wait, there’s one left,” Alexis says, twisting around in her chair. “Who didn’t get one?”

“It’s for David!” Stevie interjects pushing it across the table at him with a pointed nudge. “Loosen up,” she whispers conspiratorially so no one else can hear. “You might just get laid.”

“Bite a battery,” he hisses back, concealing his venom in a smirk.

“Toast!” Alexis chirps again, “a toast to our finalists!”

Everyone who has one downs their shot – to varying successes, David notes. Something holds him back for a moment, just a fleeting desire to watch them all. It’s Patrick’s warm hand bumping his, clinking their shot glasses together that brings him up short. His gaze is fiery but somehow calm, and it’s not just the one awful cosmo he’s already had that’s heating up David’s belly so nicely.

“Cheers, David,” he says softly.

Luckily, it’s not long after that people start to call it a night. Elie and Hannah leave with some production assistants and crew members. Alexis and Ted make excuses about him having to work early the next morning. But David sees the way Alexis’s doe eyes follow him, and how they crowd each other’s space with ease as they walk across the square to Ted’s vet office/home.

“Do you want me to walk you home?” David turns his focus back to Patrick and finds that same heated look.

“Yes,” he says firmly. “But in a second.” David watches as he gets up swiftly and talks to Twyla at the counter for a moment, returning to their table fairly quickly with two more shots.

“Oh, God,” David grimaces, smelling the familiar mint liquor immediately. “Why?” he can’t hide the pained exasperation in his voice.

“A little liquid courage,” Patrick speaks to his glass. “So we can loosen up and get laid.”

David’s brain breaks.

That’s the only explanation for the ringing in his ears and the general floating sensation pulsing through him. He was absolutely going to murder Stevie in the morning. Or bring her a gift basket. One of the two.

“You…are you teasing me?” He squints, ready to tell him off for being cruel.

“Nope.”

Oh.

Patrick looks at him properly, his breaths deeper than his normal rhythm. He was nervous, on edge. It wasn’t a flirty joke, wasn’t meant to provoke him in a way that had no follow up.

“And you’re…sure?” If he could move, he’d take off his giant slouchy zip hoodie but he can’t, so he’ll just have to sweat.

“Yup.”

God, Patrick’s lips around the letter ‘P’ felt like an obscenity.

“Okay,” David exhales the breath he had apparently been holding. What was a normal breath pattern again? Why couldn’t he get the inhale and the exhale to match up? Fuck. He’s hooked up with like, literally tons of people, why is he this tense? Patrick was nice and kind, and fucking gorgeous.

“Cheers, David,” Patrick held his eye as he tapped their tiny glasses together again.

“Cheers.” Did the word even make it audibly out of his mouth? He couldn’t be sure. But he could feel the sting of the alcohol in his throat and the heat spreading in his stomach as he swallowed it down.

Okay. They're doing this.

When they’re about ten feet from the café, Patrick grabs for David’s hand and holds tight. Just like that. And it feels nice to be wanted, desired like he had been on so many hook-ups before. But he’d be lying if he said there wasn’t also a layer of sweetness coming through. Like a ribbon of sugary jam in a petit four.

Fuck, he should have ordered dessert. Maybe Patrick would still have those nuns or something left over at his place.

The walk tonight takes them half the time as the two previous nights when they’d taken this route together. It’s the air and the small amount of booze propelling them confidently forward. They don’t pause or linger at the hedge. Patrick breezes right past it, grasping David’s hand the whole time. He only loosens their grip so they can climb the stairs and open his apartment door.

David has time to register the click of the lock before Patrick rounds on him, pressing him back against the nearest wall and finding his mouth with his own. Umfgh, his lips... His fucking brilliant mouth pressing so urgently and firmly into him. His head swims with the need to breathe and they both break apart only by a fraction, only for an instant to gasp in more oxygen. He’s drowning and it’s so, damn beautiful. Patrick’s warm, wet tongue so tentative at first, a soft swipe of his lower lip, it makes his fingers and toes curl.

Had making out ever felt like this? Needy? Never to this degree, and never from all parties at once. He and Patrick had been flirting with this for weeks now. Teasing, pushing, sharing a secret. And to have him, joined from knee to chest, Patrick’s hands digging at his hips, slipping under his open zip hoodie, fuck it’s so much hotter somehow.

“You taste like polar bear,” he laughs against Patrick’s warm lips, holding his jaw firmly so he can lick a long stripe to his ear.

“So do you!” Patrick protests, keeping a firm grip and tilting his head to give David better access.

“Do you think we should talk about this first?” Not that David wants anything that’s happening right now to stop.

“Probably.”

“Do you want me to stop?” David whispers into the shell of Patrick’s ear.

“Never.”

“I’ll keep going as long as you give me more than one-word answers.” He's very generously compromising here.

“Okay,” Patrick breathes, and David freezes and waits. “Sorry, yes! Yes, I’ll try.”

David rewards him with a nibble to his earlobe, and David is rewarded with the filthy sound it elicits.

“What do you want to do tonight?” David shifts his hand to the nape of Patrick's neck and rakes his nails through the shorter hair there.

“I-” Patrick stammers, “I don’t really know yet. I just want you.”

“That’s okay,” David trails a line of lingering kisses back to Patrick’s mouth. Oh, he’s eager. Everything about him is telegraphing his desire and it’s such a fucking turn on.

“That’s okay,” he says again. “We can figure that out as we go.” His own brain isn’t working right, isn’t putting the words and questions together. So it takes him a few seconds to finally say, “I won’t spend the night. We’ll just…have a little fun. Okay?”

Patrick keeps his lips on David’s pulse point as he snakes his hands up his chest to push David’s hoodie off his shoulders. It hits the floor with a soft tingle of the zipper on the wood laminate.

“I can’t think of a single other word to add to ‘Yes,’” he says finally, pressing himself impossibly closer. “And I don’t want you to stop again.”

David can’t help but laugh softly. “That works for me.”

“God, your stubble,” Patrick gasps, “I’m going to have a rash.” Apparently, he doesn’t mind that prospect because he returns to lavishing David’s jaw with licks and little bites, nuzzling at his skin.

Oh, fuck that was going to undo him. “I can’t help being this damn sexy,” he teases trying to wrestle back some control.

Patrick stops suckling at his neck only long enough to whisper, “You really are,” into his skin.

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. They’re melting. He’s melting into the fucking floor and he’s dying from it.

Actually, somehow, they are on the floor now. Patrick and one of his high school wrestling moves has managed to maneuver David so he’s horizontal on his back. With a thigh slotted between David’s legs, Patrick’s weight is…mmm, fucking delicious. His hands on David’s ass? Electric.

He can’t keep himself from sliding his own hands down and curving them around Patrick’s firm, lithe muscles. He can’t help it when his hips roll and grind his quickly hardening erection into him. It makes him realize that Patrick’s cock is the reason why there’s one rivet from his jeans pressing painfully into his lower abdomen. It’s… _everything_. And it makes him want so much more.

He wants this. He wants to be wanted and taken care of, and Patrick is providing all of those things in this moment, pressed against the floor, Patrick’s mouth on his neck and his hand working David’s cock through his jeans. Oh, fuck when did that start? And can it please never stop? Never, ever stop.

“Wait,” David croaks, grabbing Patrick’s arm. “Bed, bed.”

“Let me guess, floor sex is ‘so incorrect?’” Patrick teases at the same time he sits back on his heels and stands.

“No,” David finds his feet and pulls his t-shirt over his head almost indignantly. “It’s just hard and uncomfortable.”

“I’ll give you something hard and uncomfortable,” Patrick says in a rush and then freezes, the bright flush on his neck deepening.

David really wants to laugh at what was obviously a reflexive, joke response, but poor Patrick looks stricken.

“I’m…I’m sorry I wasn’t thinking…I don’t actually think I’m ready for... _that_ tonight.”

And David takes pity on him by smiling and reaching for the buttons of his now rumpled, blue, chambray shirt. “It’s okay,” he whispers, crowding a little closer while he works them open. “That’s actually a good boundary to know.”

Clothes come off rather quickly after that. There’s some tripping over shoes and jeans caught around ankles, but they make it to the bed with their underwear still on, grasping for each other. David ends up underneath Patrick just like they had been on the floor. He sinks down more slowly and they both get to savor the feel of their bare skin, so warm and inviting as it slides together. It literally takes David’s breath away.

“God, you’re gorgeous,” Patrick murmurs reverently into David’s chest, stroking his hands up and down like he’s trying to memorize every inch of skin he can find.

Fuck, he was hard, and lovely comments like that were only going to make the situation more desperate for him.

“I think,” he gasps and has to squeeze his eyes shut as Patrick’s beautiful and filthy mouth finds his nipple. “Oh, God, yes. Oh, fuck, yes.” That mouth. That was a promising, promising, terrible, wonderful mouth.

“What do you think, David?” Patrick prompts antagonistically, moving his attention to the other nipple.

“I think you’re going to kill me,” he breathes. And he resolves to attempt the move that Patrick had so deftly performed the other day, grabbing his wrists, hooking his calf around Patrick’s leg and using his other as leverage to flip them over. It doesn’t feel like it has the same finesse, but Patrick’s body goes willingly and grins up at him when he’s settled. David decides the only appropriate response is to kiss the smile off his smug face.

It’s more teeth than lips, tongues tangling and stroking between gasped breaths. Everything. This was _everything_. Inexplicably now on a mission, David shifts down Patrick’s torso, giving experimental licks and nips to each nipple. Spending just enough time to unconsciously log that Patrick liked that, but it didn’t appear to be as devastatingly arousing as it was for David.

Patrick is pretty fit. He’s thick, and solid with a shadow of definition in his abs. The paler skin of his chest is peppered with very sparse hair, only a slightly thicker line just below his belly button disappears beneath the elastic band of his underwear. God, how was David going to be able to get through two more show days with all the intimate knowledge he now has of Patrick’s skin and body? And, oh, he _aches_ to see more of him. 

Continuing his journey, David pauses to curl his fingers around the edge of Patrick’s blue boxer briefs and glance back up into his eyes for permission.

“Oh, fuck, yes,” Patrick gasps, swiping one hand across his eyes.

It’s strange how one little expletive, that David used literally all the time, could be so devastatingly hot when it comes from the lips of such a straight-laced man. He slides Patrick’s underwear down and off slowly, all too aware of their previous rules and how they’ve just barreled right past them tonight. His ears strain to hear anything concerning in Patrick’s little mewls as his cock springs free. Fuuuuck, he had a beautiful cock. David drops his forehead to Patrick’s hip, slowing himself down, wanting to savor every moment.

With a careful hand, he grips Patrick firmly, letting his fingers smooth over the velvety skin. His little inhale is one of David’s top five noises Patrick has ever made. It’s bested moments later when David licks a slow stripe from root to tip, pausing to swirl his tongue around the head. He decides to find out what other delectable sounds he can get Patrick to make by taking him apart slowly, lick by lick.

When he fully wraps his lips around his cock, he has to hold Patrick’s hips down to keep from being choked. Not that he was against being choked by dick, he just wasn’t entirely ready for it at that precise moment.

“Shit, sorry!”

He vaguely hears Patrick apologize, and keeps right on working him, stroking him with a steady grip. He’s so focused on his task, closing his eyes to tune in on Patrick’s breaths and sighs, that he’s almost startled by the very tentative hand on the back of his head. Patrick lifts it off almost as soon as it has made contact, which makes David groan in protest, the vibrations no doubt sending an extra jolt of sensation to Patrick’s likely overstimulated cock.

David shifts his stance to guide Patrick’s hand back to his head, squeezing his fingers to convey what he wants, what he loves his partners to do. And Patrick being a perceptive person gets the message. He loosens his grip to rake his blunt nails over David’s scalp, settling his hand more securely under the crown before curling his fingers and gripping firmly.

“Mmmmm!” David’s mind goes blissfully blank. The only things in his world are the taste of Patrick’s hard cock in his mouth, the feel of it warm in his hand, and the utter magic of his hair being pulled at the same time, scalp tingling deliciously.

“Oh, fuck, David.” Patrick’s desperate, impossibly quiet voice envelops him. “David, I’m gonna come.”

Yes. Fuck yes. He refuses to stop, refuses to take another breath or stop his rhythm until the first spurt of hot, bitter come hits the back of his tongue.

“Aaauuuuugh,” Patrick cries.

And that’s it. That’s the number one noise Patrick has ever made - in David’s humble opinion - and he’s going to play that on a loop in his brain as long as he lives.

It takes a good minute for Patrick to return to earth and David lets himself feel a bit of pride in that. The grin on his face, however, is wiped off quickly when Patrick, regaining his consciousness and strength, rounds on David. First, with a bruising, biting kiss and then, using his whole body to flip them again. Oh, how he loved to be manhandled and fucked properly.

David’s as hard as ever when Patrick’s strong hands stroke him through his Armani briefs. He doesn’t let himself dwell on the delicateness of the fabric when Patrick practically rips them down his legs. He recognizes the concentration and determination in his eyes, it’s the same look he gets in the tent - especially during the Technical Challenges. The thought blooms joy in his chest, while his veins radiate heat as Patrick copies his move, licking him from root to tip with unyielding strokes of his hand.

Oh, fuck. Fuck, he’s good at this. How is little button-faced baker (and whatever else Alexis had said) tearing him completely apart so quickly? Fuck, fuck, fuck, his mouth was definitely as talented as his hands, and he was once again proving he was a quick learner.

He can’t be sure what vocalizations are making it past his throat, and how loud they are. His brain is a hum of “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” and "Patrick, Patrick, Patrick," and “yes, yes, yes,” like a mantra. It must be when Patrick’s other hand finds David’s balls and lightly squeezes them that his mind goes entirely blank, the semi-coherent words replaced only with a ringing sound. His body wants to squirm away at the same time it chases the rush. When the buzz of electricity at the base of his spine intensifies he doesn’t trust his own voice to be intelligible so he releases his grip on the sheets – which he hadn’t realized until that moment he had done – to tap...and maybe scratch Patrick’s shoulder in warning.

One “I’m coming,” hopefully makes it through as his release builds, but Patrick pays it no mind. The heat of his mouth and the grip of his hand on David is all encompassing, drawing him to the edge, further, further and then…drop.

Freefall.

David is vaguely aware of Patrick’s tongue working him through the euphoric afterglow, and his name being whispered, but there’s not much else, and he is so, so, beautifully tired. There is a soft warmth all around him, and tender lips pressed to his own that he tries to reciprocate, and then nothing. Just comfort, and security, and bliss as he falls into a deep, deep sleep.

His head was heavy. Weirdly heavy. As was typical, he should have had more water before going to bed. And he should have swished longer with mouthwash. It’s the not having any clothes on that is most troubling. The sheets are not what he’s used to on his bare skin, did Stevie change them?

Opening one eye lets him know there is far too much sunlight in the room…and also that this _isn’t_ his room. Fuuuuck. He had not meant to stay the night. He had meant to keep some boundaries in place, protection for himself as much as for Patrick. But there’s a part of him that isn’t sorry in the slightest.

Turning as slowly as he can, he sees Patrick’s auburn hair peaking out from under his pillow, facing away from David on his stomach. He’s stretched out so beautifully.

Determined not to wake him, David sits up and finds most of his clothes are piled next to him on the floor. He dons his briefs and t-shirt, feeling instantly more guarded and protected, followed by his jeans and socks. His hoodie, he notices is still in a heap by the door where it was unceremoniously dropped. He finds one of his white high tops in the space between the bed and the couch, but the other is nowhere to be seen.

“Good morning.”

 _Fuck_.

Patrick’s sleep rough voice was going to break into the top three sounds he’s ever made. It sends a shiver down David's spine that he has to shake off.

“Hey,” he whispers back, completely at a loss. This was not how this was supposed to go. He was supposed to leave last night, when he had the capability of being suave and put together.

“What time is it?” Patrick rolls over, sleep-lines on his chest and cheek, hair adorably in disarray.

David fishes his phone out of his hoodie pocket and checks, “Um, almost 8am.”

Patrick props himself up on his elbows and opens his mouth to speak but is interrupted by a loud melodic tune and buzz of his ringing phone on the nightstand next to him.

“Damn, it’s my mom,” he says, and David recognizes the tone in his voice, the undercurrent of worry mixed with resignation.

“You should take that,” he says quickly. “You have a lot to talk about…after yesterday.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right,” Patrick nods and swipes the green icon. “Mom, hi.”

Patrick sits up straighter, the sheet settling around his waist and he looks like a cliché in a movie about a one-night stand. David feels like he’s in that movie, trying to find his other damn shoe.

“Yeah, no, I’m fine. How are you?”

It’s when David turns to give them some privacy that he finds his other high top near the table. This is so awkward. He hated this part of every first overnight. His mouth was thick with morning breath and having not even brushed his teeth the night before it's worse. Ugh, that felt so gross and it put him out of sorts much too early in the day. He desperately needed a shower and clothes that didn’t smell like stale French fries.

“I know, and I’m sorry for telling you guys like that.”

The one side of the conversation David can hear seems too intimate. He should go. He doesn’t know Patrick’s parents. It isn’t his place. David turns to catch Patrick’s eye and gestures vaguely toward the door.

“Mom, can you hang on just one second? I gotta grab something.” Patrick slips off the bed, an Adonis in boxer briefs, and David watches him put the phone on mute before grabbing him by the wrist. “Hey, you don’t have to-”

“No, no it’s okay,” David cuts him off, shaking himself loose to finish toeing his shoes on. He manages to slip them on without tumbling over, which is a win. “You don't need me distracting you. And I have...stuff I need to take care of and pack…and stuff. Anyway. Please, don't let me interrupt your talk with your parents. It's important.”

And since his legs are longer, or maybe since he’s fully dressed whereas Patrick is basically naked, he makes it to the door and is out before Patrick can say anything else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to post chapters 9 and 10 together as soon as they're both finished. Stay tuned!
> 
> CONTESTANTS  
> Patrick Brewer – Schitt’s Creek, Ontario (Business consultant, townie)*  
>  ~~Samantha Brown – Lethbridge, Alberta (Mom of three, barrister)~~  
>  ~~Kesha Carmack – Whitehorse, Yukon (Indigenous woman, works at the natural history museum in town)~~  
>  Elie Gagnon – Montreal, Quebec (Will pretend to only speak French to people she doesn’t like)  
> Hannah Hamilton – Gander, Newfoundland (Black woman, school administrator)  
>  ~~Bonnie McMurray – Letterkenny, Ontario (Rural kid, bartender)~~  
>  ~~Dustin Robertson – Vancouver, British Columbia (Retired accountant, has cats)~~  
>  ~~John Smith – Prince Albert, Saskatchewan (Retired school teacher, gay as a lark)~~  
>  ~~Fred Tupper – Egg Island, Manitoba (Uni student, social work major)~~  
>  ~~Sarah Wilson – Toronto, Ontario (Just out of college, trying to figure her life out)~~


	9. Finale

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's out of the fryer and into the pan for our three remaining bakers as they work their way through our final challenges and prove themselves worthy. Only one can be crowned the ultimate Star Baker and champion of The Great Canadian Baking Show.

“Oh…fuck,” Patrick curses under his breath, squeezing his eyes shut. There’s so much to dwell on…but his mother’s on the fucking phone. Fuck. Fuck. _Fuck_.

This was a five-f-bomb problem.

He wants to rush through the rest of their phone call, but he forces himself to take a breath and talk. And it feels better, having them know him. Finally knowing himself and speaking his truth out loud. His mother is nothing but support and love and kindness, and she thanks him for telling them. Then she asks if there’s anyone “special” in his life right now and at first, he doesn’t know what to say. He wants to say, “yes, he just left” and “he’s the most amazing man I’ve ever met in my life.” But he can’t. Because while David is… _everything_ …it’s not like he’s Patrick’s boyfriend…or even someone he’s dating. They are hooking up...or something...for now. Because the show is here, because they fell into it.

So, he says “no, not really,” and his mother keeps her voice light as she says “oh, okay,” and doesn’t ask follow-up questions.

She lets him know that they will see him for a short time for the finale, needing to head out early afterward for something with his dad’s Saturday curling league. They’re so excited for him and can’t wait to finally see Schitt’s Creek. Then it hits him that he could have waiting three more days to tell them in person. That this awkward morning after with David didn't need to happen because Patrick could have waited two more seconds and thought things through. Which is what he would usually do, and is very good at, but somehow had lost that ability in the last few weeks.

Marcy rings off with an emphatic, “we are so, so proud of you. We love you,” that sends a slightly guilty pang straight to his heart. He should have told them sooner. He should have kept in touch more. They would have understood, and he was an idiot for spending all that time fretting and not being a good son.

Patrick forces himself to get up and take a shower before he tries to reach out to David. His exit had been…less than ideal. …Fuck it, that had gone _terribly_. It wasn’t his fault that David had fallen so soundly asleep right after he…they…ahem. He now regretted not trying to wake him more forcefully...but he had looked so…ugh, so stunning and serene. And he selfishly wanted David to stay. But based on his reaction that had been the wrong move.

Finally, with his hair still damp and only half his clothes on, Patrick can’t wait any longer to text David.

_Patrick: Can we talk later today?_

There. That didn’t feel too needy, right?

_David: We can talk whenever you like._

_Patrick: I’m going to spend a few hours practicing the final bakes, but I’ll call you?_

Casual. Smooth. That’s the kind of person that David liked and must be used to. …Right?

 _David: Sounds good._ 🧁 [cupcake emoji]

Great. Now he had all day to beat up dough and fret about talking to his crush on the phone. Was there enough flour in the world?

\----

By the time David makes the walk back to the motel his head is clearer, which is great. The bad thing is that he makes it to the door of his room right after Stevie pulls up to work the front desk.

“Oh, shit,” she gapes at him from across the parking lot.

“Good morning to you too,” he crosses his arms and meets her at the office door.

“You got _laid_!”

“What?! No, I didn’t,” he insists, trying to tamper her enthusiasm.

“Oh? Then why are you up and about so early?” she lets them both into the office, barely taking her scrutinizing eyes off him.

“Getting breakfast.” Ugh. He should have stopped at the café for coffee and carbs.

“In the clothes you wore last night?”

Fuck. Didn’t have an answer for that one.

“It was Patrick, right?” she asks, widening her eyes pointedly. Oh, God. He was going to have to talk about it.

They sit heavily on the couch together and David feels exposed. He wraps his giant designer hoodie around his middle and then crosses his arms tightly at his chest. If he was less picky about shoes on upholstered furniture he would literally curl up into a ball.

“If you must know,” he rolls his eyes to the ceiling, so he doesn’t have to look at her while he confesses. “Yes, I spent the night at Patrick’s.”

“Oh my God! I _knew_ it!” Stevie slaps his shoulder, playfully.

“Shut up! I don’t want the whole town to know!”

“Ohmygod,” she gasps more softly. “How was it?”

“It was…good,” he says, reluctant to kiss and tell.

“Just _good_?”

He exhales all of his breath out before relenting. “Okay, fine, it was like, the best orgasm of my life! So good that it put me in a coma for 11 hours.” He can’t keep the irritability out of his voice. This was not how this was supposed to go. “I didn’t mean to spend the whole night. I was supposed to be respecting his boundaries.”

“I’m sure he’s fine,” she consoled. “Patrick’s had nothing but heart-eyes for you for weeks.”

Mmm. Sure, Patrick was fine, but was David fine? He hadn’t had such a good sleep that left him feeling that rested in _ages_. How nice that that finally happened for him in Patrick’s bed when they’re trying to keep some limits for self-preservation, he thought sarcastically.

David excuses himself shortly after, determined to take a long, hot shower to start the day over again. If he can wash away even an ounce of anxiety while he’s at it, that would be great. He’s slowed by the text alert pinging his phone almost immediately.

_Patrick: Can we talk later today?_

Ugh. This beautiful boy was going to kill him. He’s too nice. Too wholesome. None of those things would be used to described David.

_David: We can talk whenever you like._

_Patrick: I’m going to spend a few hours practicing the final bakes, but I’ll call you?_

What a fucking magnificent specimen of a human being. David is far too damaged to be with someone like him.

 _David: Sounds good._ 🧁 [cupcake emoji]

Great. Emoji use. This wasn’t one of the circles of hell at all.

“Day-vid!”

Oh, no, wait. Yes, it was.

“David, are you decent?” Alexis’s voice sounds like it’s pressed right up against the crack of the door between their rooms.

Uuugh! “Yes, what do you want?”

Alexis opens the door swiftly and pokes her head in, “Mom and dad are on the-” Her eyes pop open wide when she sees him still standing by the door, fully dressed. “…um, they want to talk to us about Friday. …Are those the clothes you-”

“David?!” their mother’s voice is jarring over the phone in Alexis’s hand.

“Yes, Alexis, thank you,” he hisses, sitting with her on the spare bed to share the FaceTime call.

“Ah my darling progeny! How wonderful to see you both!”

“Hi kids!” Johnny Rose had still not mastered finding his light or his angle for video calls, and David doubted he ever would.

“Hi,” David groans.

“Listen, your mother and I are absolutely thrilled that we get to see you two at work on Friday, but we’re not going to be able to stay for the whole day.”

“That’s okay, dad,” Alexis says.

“Our chariot will deliver us to the merrymaking fete,” Moira was in her usual form, “but unfortunately we must depart before midafternoon. We have an engagement with the playhouse.”

“Uh, yeah,” Jonny interprets, “we have tickets for the symphony that night. And then we’re leaving for L.A. the next morning. But hey, it’ll be nice for us all to be in one place when it’s not even a high holiday!”

“Mmm, so nice,” Alexis agrees with a small grimace that David feels in his soul.

It was probably going to be fine. They would come and Moira would be recognized and fawned over – which she loved – while Johnny schmoozed and did his thing. They were two people who had learned to socialize with literally every type of person. It’s how they had made so much out of their careers. David supposed that was admirable and he felt something like pride about them.

After they ring off Alexis reels on him, grabbing his arm and digging her claw-like fingernails in painfully.

“You got _laid_!” she gasps.

“Oh, my fucking God,” David groans to the ceiling. “I’m not going over this again.” Why was everyone so surprised and invested in his sex life?

“It was Patrick, right? How was it?!”

The similarities in her response to Stevie’s was more than unnerving.

“Step on a rake, Alexis,” he says standing and shoving her back through their connecting door.

All the talk of Friday’s final shoot was whipping up his anxiety like a monster. What was he going to do with his life after this?! He and Alexis were driving back to Toronto on Saturday, and his only plan was to live in his family’s luxury apartment there until he figured all his shit out. The place was big enough for all four of them to live there at once and only have to share part of a kitchen, but he was still thankful that his parents wouldn’t be there when he was.

The lies about his gallery and its success still stung like a fresh wound. At least he _knew_ he was relying on them for this apartment. There wasn’t deceit around that. The only way he could move on and forgive them would be to build a career of his own making. But what the fuck was that going to be? What was he qualified to do? Hosting a baking show once a year was not going to keep him in the lifestyle to which he’d grown accustom.

\-----

At 5pm, Patrick stands surveying the mountain of doughnuts and pithivier he had made in record time. The kitchen was spotless, the fryer drained and cleaned, the baking trays dried and put away. There was literally nothing left to do. Except…

He texts David a photo of his accomplishments, knowing it will open up _some_ sort of conversation. Even if it was only tangentially related to what they needed to talk about. David's response comes immediately.

_David: You have my rapt attention._

_Patrick: I’m done baking. Can I call you?_

In reply, Patrick’s phone starts ringing in his hand and David’s name appears on the caller ID. Okay. Breathe. "Hi."

“You are allowed to call me at literally any hour of the day or night if the topic is doughnuts,” David says by way of greeting. “Strike that, that’s only allowed to happen if I’m going to be receiving doughnuts to accompany said call.”

Patrick’s laugh is all chest and shallow breath, a relief to hear David’s light, good-humored voice after this morning’s awkwardness.

“I’ll keep that in mind the next time I have a surplus of doughnuts at 4am,” Patrick’s face is smiling as he says it, but his heart is in his throat. The implication that there would be a _next time_ just hung there for a moment.

“Well, now my expectations are very high, so…”

“Yeah…yeah.” Oh, God he should have rehearsed this. “Um, so…not to steer the conversation away from your future career as a doughnut-monger, but um…last night.”

“Yeah,” David’s voice is so airy it makes Patrick almost dizzy and he has to sit down.

“I don’t know…what…um…” How hard was it to translate a feeling into thought and words?

“Listen,” David says a little more forcefully. “Last night was…pretty great.”

Oh, thank God.

“I’m sorry for…falling asleep, I’m not sure what came over me. I usually don’t sleep very well, so…”

“Oh, no, that was totally fine,” Patrick assures him. “It was nice, actually.” What he doesn’t say is that it was the greatest fucking thing ever.

“Right, well, I know you said you wanted to go slow, and wait until you were eliminated...or won. So I was trying to abide by that. I’m sorry for overstepping.”

“No, David, don’t be. I wanted you here. It was…exactly what I needed actually. To…to celebrate the Star Baker…thing, and to get my mind off of the final…and other stuff.”

“Oh!” David’s voice is a little brighter and Patrick’s sure he can hear his sideways smile over the phoneline. “Well, I’m glad then. I’m glad we could…do that for you. …And how are you feeling _tonight_?”

“Um…” He knew what David was asking, and with every pore of his skin he wanted to indulge in it. “I mean…I have all these doughnuts…and I’d hate for them to go to waste.”

“I’ll be there in 30, I’m just glad I haven’t had dinner yet.”

“That’s what the pithivier are for,” he says, very pleased with himself.

\----

It is almost exactly 30 minutes later when David arrives at Patrick’s place with a bottle of wine from one of the local wineries they had visited together. He decided to drive to 1) make the journey there faster and 2) avoid an awkward walk-of-shame thing happening again in the morning… _if_ a morning together should be in the cards.

“Hey, come in.” Patrick opens the door to his apartment still wearing his messy apron. David recognizes the streak of pink frosting from the picture of the mound of doughnuts.

“Hey,” he says almost shyly, pressing a very quick and chaste kiss to Patrick’s left cheekbone as he walks in.

“I kept some of the pithivier warm for us.” Patrick sweeps around the kitchen, putting it onto plates, and retrieving wine glasses.

“Say the name of that thing again for me?” David asks, listening carefully.

“Pithivier,” Patrick says slowly, watching his tongue. “Pih-thiv-ier.”

“Sure, sure. I just have to say it like, 40 times tomorrow, so…”

“Happy to help,” Patrick grins.

The little savory pies are _good_ , and they spend the entire short meal chatting comfortably and jesting with each other like it was nothing. Like it was a totally normal Wednesday evening with sweet potato cinnamon and strawberry rhubarb doughnuts in abundance.

After David forces himself to stop picking at his third doughnut, and helps clean up, they move to the couch. It’s not long before they’re fully leaning into each other’s spaces, lips meeting half-way, hands gripping almost too tightly. Patrick shifts forward and pushes David backward, making him lay across the cushions. His weight on top of David is…ahhhhh. It. is. bliss. There is nothing to worry about except whether or not Patrick was working on giving David a hickey where it was going to be problematic tomorrow on set.

Oh, fuck. There’s the one thing to worry about: tomorrow.

“So, what _exactly_ happened to waiting until you were eliminated?” David nuzzles into the side of Patrick’s head, attempting to wrestle back some control.

“Mmm, changed my mind. Realized I was more distracted _not_ kissing you.” Patrick’s mouth is too busy to say much more, and his hands are entering dangerous territory under David’s Givenchy polo. Oh, fuck…this was about to get desperate. Not desperate, something else. Fuck.

David pushes Patrick’s shoulders to get him to look up and focus.

“Hey, I shouldn’t stay,” he says, trying to get his breath back to normal.

“Oh, um, okay,” Patrick blinks and shifts back.

“We both have an early call time tomorrow.”

“Yeah, no. That makes sense.”

“But we do only have two days left, and I hope we can enjoy them…together,” David bites his lip and gives what he hopes is a coy and alluring look.

For a split second, Patrick looks stricken. Like he’s going to protest or disagree. But then he smiles and nods slowly.

\-----

Two days. Right. That’s right. On Saturday, this will be all over. All of the contestants will be flying home, and the crew will start striking the set, and Patrick's life in Schitt’s Creek will return to normal.

Normal.

Great.

“Yeah, no, I agree,” he finds himself saying, despite the pit in his stomach. “We’ll just…have fun while we can.”

“Right,” David’s voice agrees brightly, but everything is fuzzy around the edges.

Breathe.

David finds his feet and pulls Patrick up to standing too. They smirk at each other, intertwining their fingers together. David seems to be radiating joy and it is infectious. Patrick decides to give into that feeling.

Two days.

“Dinner tomorrow?” David asks, pulling Patrick toward the door.

“Yeah, that would be great.”

“Excellent.” David’s grin was going to be the death of him. “Goodnight, Patrick,” he says softly right before he leans in and captures Patrick’s lips with his own for one last, soft, gentle kiss.

Fuuuuuuuuuuck, he was so smitten.

Patrick owed his mental swear jar a lot of money. He might spend the rest of the night racking up a huge debt.

\------

“Welcome back to the tent, bakers.” David kicks off their taping and fully feels nerves like he had on the first day. What a marvel to be here now, looking at only three of them remaining. “Huge congratulations on making it to our very special finale. You’ve battled it out through stacks and stacks of cakes, waded through rivers of caramel and chocolate, and fought against the challenges of baking outdoors in the middle of summer, in a tent. …A very nice tent, but regardless, a feat in and of itself.”

“Mmm, we are all so proud of you,” Alexis clasps her hands together and blinks both her eyes dramatically. In her weird way, Alexis was very charming. And loathe though David was to admit it, it had been a genuine pleasure doing this show with her.

“For your final Signature Challenge, Bruno and Kyla would like for you to please make one dozen savory miniature pithiviers. As you know by now, they’re looking for a perfect crust, exceptional finishing, and amazing flavors. You’ll have three hours for this challenge.”

“David,” Alexis says seriously. “I just want to say…I _loaf_ you _dough much_ for doing this show with me!”

“Okay,” David grimaces as Alexis ad-libs a brutal hug around his neck. “Okay, that’s enough. Tell our nervous bakers they can start.”

“On your marks!” Alexis shouts, still holding on. “Get set!”

“Bake!” David mumbles.

The bakers set off on their work like they had done all those times before. The tension in the tent had been present from the beginning, weeks and weeks ago. But now it felt almost insurmountable. David marveled at the ability of Patrick, Hannah, and Elie to put that aside enough to move, let alone concentrate on making something that would no doubt be spectacular. They were all much stronger and braver than he felt. How much had it taken to even apply and now power through? Amazing.

Alexis was assigned the last round of Signature Challenge interview briefs with Bruno and Kyla, so David has time to be by himself for a bit. He drinks coffee with some of the crew who aren’t needed right that second and enjoys the relative silence and calm of the field outside. He tries not to dwell about Saturday and beyond. There was a short-term plan – finish the tasks for the show – so that was fine. He had time. He had time to figure out the rest. Don’t force it. It will come. And he will do it on his own.

“You have one minute left, bakers!” David calls, his chest filling with anxiety at the rush to put finishing touches on their pithivier displays. He’s thankful there’s an expiration date on this feeling.

“Don’t _pan_ -ic,” Alexis says, grabbing his arm. “Get it…’cause bakers use pans?”

“Yeah, no, _everyone_ gets it,” David says rolling his eyes. Fuck it, he was going to miss this.

\-----------

Patrick’s happy with his result. As happy as he could be. Bruno and Kyla had given him only positive feedback. Hannah’s tomato basil pithivier was similarly well reviewed. Elie had received sort of a mixed response – they liked her sesame crust, but the filling had too much pepper apparently.

The break for lunch is mostly subdued, but the on-camera talent all end up eating together – for once they can all fit at a single picnic table. Patrick tries not to get too disappointed about the fact that he’s not sitting right next to David. Alexis had taken his one side and Bruno the other. So Patrick settles for kitty-corner from him instead. He also tries not to get too worked up about the soft glances David furtively shoots his way every so often.

Oh, who was he kidding he was _geared up_ about it all. The increased tension on set, the unknown and unsaid between him and David, and the damn clock ticking down to Saturday when reality would set back in.

“Your final Technical Challenge is here and it’s all on the line,” David begins. “I think I can speak for everyone at the front of the tent here, and the entirety of Canada, that this is a beloved recipe and you better not mess it up on national television.”

“No! Pressure!” Alexis claps her hands with each word. “As you know, it’s judged blind so Bruno and Kyla we bid you adieu…What are they up to today?” she asks once they are a few steps away.

“Paragliding.”

“Ooh dangerous,” Alexis gives a brilliant grin and waggles her eyebrows at the bakers.

For a split-second Patrick forgets what’s on the line and the pressure he’s feeling. It’s a very fleeting second.

“Your challenge today is 24 maple crème cookies,” David explains. “We are looking for a crisp biscuit-like crunch in the outer cookies, and a smooth maple cream filling. You have two hours for this challenge so on your marks!”

“Get set!”

“Baaaake!”

Cookies. Cookies and cream. That’s all this was. Patrick could do that. Sugar, flour, butter, salt, maple. Staples of his pantry. Easy. So…flippin’…oh, what the hell was he doing? There were barely any instructions to follow. Thank God they had a leaf-shaped cookie cutter, or he may have quit right then. But after glancing around the tent he sees Hannah and Elie both pouring over the recipe sheet with horror-stricken looks on their faces. Elie is fisting her hair in her hands manically and Hannah just keeps shaking her head "no" over and over.

And David…David is looking at him and smiling so softly…and it feels like cheating to have such a calming presence there. If Patrick just takes his mind off the pressure and tampers down his competitive nature, he could get through this. He could do this.

He could do this.

“Bakers, you did a brilliant job with these,” Bruno says after he and Kyla have finished taste-testing them all. “I think we should have set a harder challenge, no?”

“Yes, this is a tough one,” Kyla agrees.

Patrick watches them whisper to each other and re-taste the sample cookie several times. Their little dance in front of the three plates is mesmerizing. Finally, they seem ready and there’s a little bustle as camera angles are reset. Patrick is sitting in the middle of their line, so Hannah and Elie both grab one of his hands. He ignores the fact that they will only do that one more time, tomorrow.

“I want to preface this,” Kyla begins, “by saying that this was the toughest judging we have had to do. They are all so close it came down to very specific criteria for this ranking.”

“I agree, all three could be the top, but we have done our best to rank them. In third place,” Bruno pauses, “is this one.”

“Mine,” Hannah smiles and raises her free hand. Patrick gives her a few squeezes as Bruno tells her the cream was just slightly grainier than the other two, and her cookies slightly too thick.

“In second place,” Kyla steps forward, pausing for effect. “This one.”

Patrick’s.

Shit. Okay.

“Those are mine,” he says, not letting go of Hannah or Elie. He keeps his eyes glued to Kyla as she explains that his were just a little less polished than the top spot, he should have smoothed the edges of his cut cookies, spread the cream a little neater.

“And our first place is this one.” Bruno points to Elie’s plate and everyone congratulates her. While they wrap up, both judges reiterate just how close it was and they make vague comments about them all being neck-and-neck going into tomorrow’s final bake. He supposes they are trying to reassure them, build them up again…but it only serves to put more pressure on his shoulders.

\----

Before they even leave the set, David is texting Patrick across the Green Room tent.

_David: You did a great job – as usual._

He can hear the phone buzz in Patrick’s pocket on the other side of the space and he watches him unlock the screen and read. Patrick’s eyes find him immediately and _oh_. Oh. That’s enough to start getting him hard. Damn it.

_Patrick: Thanks. Part of me is glad we all did well, but I also wish it was more obvious where we stand._

_David: I get that. On a scale of 1 to Me, how nervous are you for tomorrow?_

_Patrick: Probably a 7, which I should tell you is high for me._

_Patrick: It’s the same level as the night that we first kissed._

David has to take a breath. He has to close his eyes and breathe before he can look up at Patrick and type a reply. Because he remembers. He felt it too, and it had to be more intense for Patrick who was doing that for the very first time.

_David: Anything I can do to help calm those nerves?_

_Patrick: I’m sure we can think of something._

The _look_. Mmm…the look Patrick is giving David should be illegal. His cheeks are very pink, David can see even from far away, but the heat…David can’t help smiling to himself. Patrick was either very charming or very smug. Maybe that dangerous mix of both, that David has found irresistible in many partners before.

_David: Your place at 6?_

_Patrick: I’ll have the leftover doughnuts at the ready._

_David: You’re a tease._

_Patrick: Not if I deliver._

“Why are you and Patrick both smiling at your phones?” Alexis asks from somewhere to his left.

For a moment it had been just the two of them in the world, and the rest of this whole thing didn’t matter. Ugh, that was a great feeling. Why couldn’t that last?

“Fuck off, Alexis,” he says nonchalant. “Are you ready to go?”

David barely has time to freshen up and change before he’s out the door of his motel, in his car, and then stands at Patrick’s doorstep at exactly 6pm. He’s gone with this favorite cloth-armor – leather jacket, white t-shirt, black jeans. It makes him feel powerful and beautiful. And if the look on Patrick’s face is anything to go by when he opens the door, David has succeeded.

“You look…” Patrick stammers, eyes raking over his body, mouth slightly agape.

And David takes in the fact that Patrick has freshly showered, his hair curling from being a little damp. He’s wearing a heathered blue t-shirt that is hugging his pecks in just the right way, a different pair of jeans, and no socks. Fuck, that shouldn’t be so hot.

He can’t help it. He can’t help what he does next. He practically lunges forward to capture Patrick’s lips in a brutal kiss. Wrapping his hands around Patrick’s jaw, holding him right where he wants him, to get the best angle, to lick slowly against his bottom lip, to take what he needs in this moment.

There’s a gasp ringing in his ears when Patrick wraps his arms around David’s middle, keeping him close, urging him on. There’s a moan when Patrick rocks on his toes to return the pressure, their lower abdomens making contact, and _oh_ , oooh that’s good.

“Inside, inside,” Patrick gasps against David’s lips, pulling him forward and closing the door behind him.

The click of the latch making contact with the strike plate is like a starting pistol going off. Patrick’s hands are everywhere – at his lower back pulling David closer, up to his shoulder blades and back down his spine, and…oh, _fuck_ …finding their way into his back pockets and squeezing his ass.

David removes his hands from where they’re still cradling Patrick’s face to run them down his chest between them. His fingers find the waist of his jeans and the hem of his shirt and start scrambling to separate the fabrics so he can touch skin, beautiful, warm skin.

Almost as soon as he accomplishes that, Patrick is pushing at the lapels of his jacket, managing to get it off his shoulders, down his arms and off. It’s tossed in the general direction of a chair which is…fine. David toes off his shoes as they continue to make-out, standing up in Patrick’s apartment, half-way to the bed.

“Is this okay?” David asks vaguely.

Patrick answers by peeling David’s t-shirt over his head, pausing to find David’s lips again, then stripping his own off. With one hand at the back of his neck, and another pressed into David’s lower back, Patrick is holding him _firmly_. And there is the unmistakable press of something else that’s nice and firm.

“My God, you are so hot,” David’s voice falters. Fuuuuck this was dangerous.

“Bed,” Patrick whispers.

They separate only a few inches, and only enough to unbutton and remove their jeans. Patrick holds out his hand to David, drawing him toward the only bed that has supported a full night’s sleep for him in months. He was _in_ this. Too deep. _Shit_.

“I shouldn’t stay tonight,” David whispers against Patrick’s eager mouth.

“Okay,” Patrick agrees like it doesn’t matter, tracing a line of open-mouth kisses under David’s jaw and against the pulse point below his neck.

Good God, that talented, treacherous mouth. Stumbling a little, they manage to achieve a comfortable horizontal position with David half-way on top, legs tangled, hands roaming, lips incessantly exploring. David feels in control when he’s on top, powerful…but Patrick is doing something with his hips, rolling them up, that is making David feel wild and weak in a strangely delightful way. Patrick’s also hooking his thumbs under David’s Tom Ford trunk-cut briefs – because yes, David had changed into some Date Night underwear in anticipation of this interaction.

Quickly, David slithers away enough to rescue his underwear from any more forceful manhandling, and Patrick takes that as an eager opportunity to rid himself of his own as well. The image of Patrick, stretched out on his back, cock at full mast against his stomach, skin flushed from being pawed and nibbled, is almost enough to make David blow it right there. But he keeps it together long enough to crawl back up and let their bodies slide into place together, unencumbered by any more articles of clothing.

“You are so gorgeous,” Patrick hooks a leg around David’s thigh, bringing them impossibly closer and effectively rubbing the length of their cocks together. And it is _sweet_. So, fucking sweet, an electric current running through David’s entire body.

“Umph,” David groans inelegantly. He has to inhale deeply to compose himself and reorder his thoughts because Patrick’s dick should not be this…exhilarating. “What do you want?” he manages to murmur against the taught skin on Patrick’s shoulder.

“You,” Patrick sighs, “right here. I want to watch you come.” Before David has time to ask any follow-up questions, Patrick is rolling him onto his side, a hand roaming in between them to grasp his cock securely.

“Oooookay, yes,” David gasps as Patrick’s thumb traces the ridge underneath the head. “Oh, fuck…”

“There’s a little bottle of lube in the drawer behind you,” Patrick’s voice is much too calm for a statement like that with his hand…just…

“Fuck,” David sighs and very reluctantly, rolls further away to locate said bottle. Finding it, he directs his attention back to the matter at hand – oh, for fuck's sake, the fucking puns were seeping into his sex life – and glances down as he uncaps it. He does a double take at the label, recognizing that it was from one of the local craftswomen they had visited together. “This is from the Radcliffe farm,” he blinks.

“Um, yeah,” Patrick stills, biting his lip. “I bought it when…I thought…I don’t know what I thought…”

Dipping his head, he quickly finds Patrick’s lips, to kiss away any doubt that’s underlying those words and that tone of voice. “I love that you have this,” he says carefully, applying some of the slick liquid into Patrick’s palm.

The first stroke of Patrick’s hand is…effective. All thoughts and doubts instantly leave David’s mind, thinking only of the warmth and strength of him, taking him apart slowly with each pump root to tip.

“So good,” he exhales. He has to get his own hands on Patrick. Has to feel him, has to take him apart. And by a stroke of luck – oh, fucking puns! – there’s enough lube on his fingers to work Patrick’s cock slowly, their hands finding a steady rhythm together.

Patrick shifts his grip and pushes his pelvis further into David’s, taking over the task of rapidly stroking them both, building heat and hunger for more. _More_.

“More,” David gently guides Patrick to grip them harder, stroke them faster, take them to the edge…together. Together.

“Daviiid,” the voice is a gentle warning against his lips. It’s frantic urgency barely concealed in their mingled breath. It’s everything…everything. Holding him up, helping him fly.

“I’m going to come,” he keens, arching up, chasing it.

“Yes, David, yes,” Patrick urges him.

And it’s Patrick’s voice, and his breath on David’s ear, and his impossibly hard cock sliding along with his talented hand…that pulls him, pulls him right off the ledge and leaves him suspended in mid-air until he’s grunting out his release between them.

The world is fuzzy.

There is heat and electricity and a voice panting his name in his ear like a prayer, “David…David…David…”

Eventually, the general fuzz disappears. But there’s still warmth and softness and…Patrick. Patrick bringing his hand up to his mouth and tentatively licking, tasting how their come mixes. David can’t help the whimper he releases at the absolutely filthy sight, reveling in Patrick being so surprising.

Patrick takes charge again, grabbing a warm washcloth from the bathroom and making sure David feels sufficiently clean before they get re-dressed. It’s while David is buttoning his jeans that his stomach rumbles, betraying his creeping hunger. They end up sitting at the kitchen table, all up in each other’s spaces way more than is useful, eating the leftovers Patrick had made yesterday.

It’s sweet and relaxed, and they joke about everything and talk about nothing important. And when Patrick stands to put their dishes in the sink, he kisses David first. And David might follow him, turning him as soon as his hands are free, pressing him against the countertop. David may also slide down Patrick’s body, opening his jeans with ease and bringing his dick back to full mast in no time. Oh, to be younger and have that refractory period.

“When you’re baking tomorrow, will you picture me like this? On my knees for you?” David asks, pulling him out fully, licking a slow stripe along the shaft.

Maybe Patrick answers, maybe he doesn’t, but he threads a hand into David’s hair and scrapes his nails against his scalp, fisting the short hair as much as he can.

David is good at giving head. It’s not boasting, he is just very good at it, and all of his partners have told him so. He knows how to read people through all their minute changes in body language and nonsensical vocal expressions. It’s not too much longer that Patrick’s hand is deftly pulling at his hair, David’s scalp tingling and his mind going blissfully white as Patrick’s come paints the back of his throat.

It’s amusing how quickly Patrick pulls him up to standing after that, kissing him soundly, chasing the taste of himself on David’s tongue. Fuck, it’s hot. It’s so fucking hot to be wanted and appreciated, even if it is only because he’s good at giving head.

With a doughnut or two (or five) for the road, David leaves shortly after, ignoring Patrick’s attempts at reciprocation. Bidding him to save his strength for tomorrow. Suave, smooth, in control.

Powerful.

\-----

David has looked Patrick directly in the eyes exactly twice today and Patrick is definitely counting. The first time was when Patrick greeted him at the catering table, handing over the cappuccino he had ordered for him. The second time was when he hit his mark at the front of the tent and began speaking his lines.

“Welcome to your _final_ Showstopper Challenge,” David begins, “It has been eight weeks of grueling work, tiered highs, and sunken soufflé lows.”

“You, our three final bakers,” Alexis takes over, “have proven yourselves to be the cream of the crop. But we can only crown one of you the Best Amateur Baker in Canada.”

“I don’t even think Alexis meant to make those two baking puns just then,” David grimaces comically eyes very much on Hannah and Elie and not Patrick. “For your final challenge you will be making four dozen doughnuts for our luncheon this afternoon.”

“Bruno and Kyla are asking for two different but complimentary flavors, they should be soft, chewy, and above all, delicious.”

“You will have four and a half hours for this challenge so for the final time…”

“On your marks, get set, bake!” They say in unison.

Taking one second to breathe and look around, Patrick sets to work. He pulls out his recipe sheets from the drawer, he sets the mixing bowls in the center, the baking trays by the sink, and he carefully measures out flour, sugar, butter, and all the rest.

When he’s measuring out the cinnamon into his first dough is when Bruno, Kyla, and David come by for the interview. David doesn’t say a thing, leaving the judges to ask all the questions, until the very end when he looks at Patrick in the eye for the third time that morning, and winks. Patrick has to stare at his worktop for several seconds before his brain can function again and get back to work.

Hours and hours of baking is grueling work, so while the first dough is in the proofing drawer, and the second is slowly incorporating in the stand mixer, Patrick sits and relaxes his bones for exactly two minutes – yes, he sets a timer to keep himself on track.

“You got something to prove, button?” Alexis’s voice is in his ear and suddenly she’s crouching beside him, balancing expertly in her chunky high heels. The only response Patrick can summon from his brain is to smile and laugh lightly. So she squeezes his shoulder and says, “you got this” before walking away.

“Two hours left, bakers!” David calls from the front of the tent.

Patrick practices his catcher’s crouch behind his workstation again, peeping at his dough and trying to loosen up his knees in between cutting strawberry slices into decorative shapes for garnish. His second dough is proofing for the first time in his drawer, and the first dough is proofing for the final time in the empty workstation behind him.

Between his, Hannah’s and Elie’s stations there are six fryers in this tent and the smell of the oil heating up is a little sickening. Thank God he decided to bake one of his instead of frying both. He tries to ignore it all as he breathes deeply, maybe it wasn’t just the fry oil that was churning his stomach. _Maybe_ it was some nerves. Maybe. Years of competitive sports had helped him deal with this pressure, but that was always with a support system in the form of a team. This, he was doing basically entirely on his own. Yes, it was a very supportive set, but it wasn’t the same _at all_.

After all the filming days, Patrick is pretty used to David and Alexis walking around during the bake times, mingling, joking, and providing moral support. Alexis comes by with a tray of tea mugs and places one next to him on his worktop before moving on to Elie’s station. If his hands weren’t so covered in strawberry juice, he’d probably down that in one go, scalding throat be damned. David is close behind her with a small plate of cookies and other finger foods. He starts to place it near the tea, and Patrick is almost mesmerized by the movement, aching to touch him, feel some comfort from those hands. So it’s weird when he sees David’s index finger slowly and intentionally brush one cookie off the plate and onto the floor.

“Whoops,” David says quietly, “I’ll get it.”

That’s when David looks at Patrick for the fourth time that day, on his knees, soft, crooked smile on his lips. All of the air is sucked out of Patrick’s lungs for the solid five seconds it takes David to locate the spoiled confection, his brain flipping back to last night.

“So clumsy,” David says, standing again. “Can I give you another?”

Patrick just blinks, all too aware of the proximity of other people, the mic in his shirt, and the camera crew filming Hannah working at her station.

“You can owe me one,” he says at last, biting the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling too broadly at the bright look in David’s eye after that remark. Perfect.

After that, Patrick flies through his last tasks. He bakes and fries, stirs and dips, and stacks doughnut upon doughnut. And perfectly on time, he’s done, and Alexis and David are calling, “Time’s up!” and there’s nothing left to do but wait and be judged.

While they go through the usual judging, he admires Hannah and Elie’s displays – Hannah has made towers out of her chocolate fudge and peanut glazed doughnuts, and Elie has aligned her date-filled and chocolate hazelnut doughnuts in neat rows with floral accents. Patrick’s are in blue and white striped baker’s boxes with navy wax paper liners. Was his a very creative display? No. Did he think it looked nice? Yes. The pink icing popped against the dark liner, and the orangey-brown of the sweet potato cinnamon ones reminded him of autumn. He had to be pleased about it all, regardless of whatever the result was. It was better than “good enough” if he did say so himself, and importantly, he had worked hard on everything.

After they each get their reviews from Bruno and Kyla, the three bakers are released outside to greet everyone arriving in the field for the picnic. Patrick gets accosted by Bonnie and Kesha together, Dustin and John shake his hand in turn, and he finds his parents in the middle of the crowd. They greet him warmly, like he hadn’t dropped a bomb on them three days ago. It feels both good and surreal to have them in this town that he escaped to. But they make it very clear that they love him and are so proud of him, and his heart clenches tighter in his chest.

If he wasn’t interrupted every five minutes by someone else coming up to him and offering congratulations, he would probably be dwelling too much on when the result was going to come in. He would also probably have gone up to Mr. and Mrs. Rose who are unmistakable in this crowd and made a fool of himself. But luckily, there’s enough action happening around him that he doesn’t do that, and he has a chance to catch up with his fellow bakers.

When Marie finally calls for places, his breath may hitch, and his heart may stop but his legs know how to find their mark. Hannah and Elie crowd him up, as if they were back in the tent on their stools, waiting for the final judgement. None of it is particularly calming and he just feels like laughing nervously and idiotically over it all.

When the judges, Alexis, and David finally emerge from the tent, he does laugh at the giant bouquets almost dwarfing them, and the absurdity of just…everything. He tries to ignore the cake stand trophy in David’s hands, and the fact that David _knows_. That all four of them _know_ who the winner is. Instead, Patrick focuses on how hot David looks in sunglasses, and the pout of his lips, and the lines that form on his face when he squints. He hadn’t had the brain space before to appreciate that he was wearing cropped pants and that so much of his toned calves were visible. He had touched those calves, had them up by his ears almost. Mmmm, shit. Maybe this wasn’t the best time to focus on that. David pushes his sunglasses on top of his head as they hit their marks, and that’s the fifth time that he looks directly at Patrick that day.

“Bakers,” Alexis begins after a breath, “I want to first congratulate all three of you on making it through our finale challenges. We are so proud of you, and you should all be so proud of yourselves.”

“Yes, but only one of you can be crowned the ultimate Star Baker.” David takes a breath and Patrick can see it’s shallow, all upper chest, which means he’s nervous. He’s nervous. Patrick fights the urge to rush forward and hug him, tell him it doesn't matter. It's okay that he's lost. Instead, he matches his breaths to David’s rhythm and waits, forcing his mind to go blank. “The winner of the Great Canadian Baking Show is…”

In (two, three, four), out (two, three, four). In (two, three, four)…

“Patrick.”

“Aaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhh,” Elie is shouting in his ear, wrapping herself fully around him. Hannah is cradling his face with both hands. There’s such a roar of cheers and blood rushing in his ears that is both confusing and thrilling.

“You did it!” Hannah smiles at him softly and all he can do is blink.

What? He what?

Hannah and Elie suddenly aren’t holding him up anymore, moving to take their bouquets from Bruno and Kyla. He feels almost cold until David is moving into his space, wrapping one arm around his shoulders, cradling both his head and the cake stand. He holds on to David with both arms, swaying gently, breathing deeply into David, and he knows that Alexis’s is the small hand rubbing his back, waiting to pass over the bouquet. But he doesn’t want that yet. Not yet. One more second. One more glorious second of David so proud of him and holding him so closely.

“You did it,” David is murmuring in his ear. “You did it, you did it.”

If he let himself, he could hear something else in those words, but he doesn’t let it happen. It takes all of his will power not to press a kiss to David’s throat, not to slide his hands up David’s shirt. There’s time for that later. Tonight. Oh, _yes!_ They were going to celebrate _tonight_.

\----

Eventually, David releases his grip, and lets Patrick get similarly embraced by people who must be his parents, then Alexis, Samantha, Bonnie, Kesha, and all the other bakers he’s come to know over the last few weeks. The camera crews stop filming after a while and join in the party, mingling and eating and celebrating the end.

As expected, Johnny Rose is wearing far too expensive of a suit for being in a farm field, and Moira looks like she just stepped out of an editorial photoshoot to be there. But they greet David and Alexis amiably, with only minor critiques for how they had handled the final reveal. Moira fishes SPF powder out of her Prada bag for Alexis because she “doesn’t trust these make-up ladies to give you the good stuff.” And besides, she was getting a little shiny in the afternoon sun. Typical mom, David thinks not unkindly.

Roland Schitt finds David later, hanging by the doughnut table while he’s lost in thought about nothing, eyes laser focused on the back of Patrick’s head, eating part of Elie's inferior chocolate hazelnut ones.

“Dave!” Roland shouts unnecessarily.

“It’s David, actually,” he tries to protest, but Roland is a man that just steamrolls through life. Typical politician, David supposes.

“Listen, a little bird told me you were thinking of exercising your claim for the General Store.”

The topic switch jostles David, and he finally peels his eyes off the snack – Patrick – that he was fully intending on unwrapping later and swallowing whole.

“Um, what?”

“I know you have first claim as owner of the town, but I have to tell you that Christmas World has been sniffing around and Gwen will have my hide if I don’t entertain the idea.”

“Who the fuck is Gwen?” David feels only a modicum of guilt for not having a clue. He barely knew Roland for crying out loud.

“Good one!” Roland laughs much too hard and much too close to David’s face. “So, what do you think? Do you want the store, or not?”

“Umm,” David pauses, looking back to the crowd of townies and show folks mixing together for one final time. Stevie is drinking wine and talking with Twyla, Ronnie, and Brenda. Alexis has an arm slung over Elie’s shoulders, and they’re laughing with the rest of their little clique about something. Patrick is now posing for pictures with people who have apparently formed an orderly queue. It’s peaceful, and wholesome, and ending today.

“No,” he says at last. “No, I’m not going to take it.”

“That’s great!” Roland shouts again, making David wince and squirm another step away. “I’ll go tell Gwen and the council to move forward with Christmas World!”

When he’s alone again, his thoughts catch up with him. All of this, the bakers and the judges and the overly helpful production assistants were all going away. Packing up and leaving this strange, sweet little town. And that’s probably how it should be.

Patrick isn’t the only one with a line of admirers. It looks like his mother is signing autographs, smiling behind her giant sunglasses, and flipping the ends of her platinum blonde wig every time she laughs. She is a stark contrast to everyone else in their perfectly fine, normal clothes, and she didn’t belong. Despite owning this place, none of the Roses really _belonged_ here. This had just been a fun distraction. A blip in the story of his life. So, David takes a deep breath, shoos away his anxiety for now, and lets his feet walk him back into the throng of things.

As the festivities start to wind down, he and Alexis say goodbye to their parents, promising to be available for Rosh Hashanah in L.A. or wherever Moira was shooting next.

The wrap party takes place at Café Tropical, closed just for the cast, crew, and townies that were essential to the success of the show – basically Stevie, Roland, and the other Town Council members. It’s fairly intimate and lots of fun, and the drinks flow as easily as they would have done at a proper bar. But David isn’t drinking, well, not a lot. He nurses one sparkling white wine (this was _not_ champagne, whatever it was) as Patrick’s knee is pressed firmly against his under the table. People keep coming up to Patrick offering him another congratulatory drink, but he is similarly taking his time with his one beer and he insists he’s “good.”

It’s light, and everyone gets along easily after working together for so many weeks. No one is “working” tonight - except for Twyla and George who are surprisingly capable hosts. David suspects some outside help was acquired earlier, but he doesn’t begrudge them.

After about an hour the lights are dimmed and music turned up, and a few crew make excuses and leave. It’s an astonishingly intimate little party. When Patrick’s hand slides over David’s knee is when he finally turns to him, closing their conversation to anyone who may want to interrupt them.

“Hi,” Patrick grins at him.

“Hey,” David smirks, soaking in the relaxed and cheerful expression that has taken over Patrick’s features. He had already seemed to deal with the stress of everything so well, but now that it was truly over, he was almost…radiant.

“So…” there’s a blush creeping up Patrick’s neck that David wants to lick.

“So,” David nods in agreement, letting himself savor the heat between them for a moment. This is always the best part, the desire and anticipation. They had broken Patrick’s rule days ago, but tonight was still…electric. Filled with the unknown, and possibilities.

“I’m not sure how long you want to stay,” David clears his throat finally. “Anyway, my car is just outside, and Alexis is spending part of the evening with Ted, I guess. So.” They had talked about how this night would go in only the vaguest sense. They were going to spend it together, that was a given, but now it was here. And it was real.

“Yeah,” Patrick exhales, removing his hand from where it had been drawing lines on the inside of David’s knee to finish his one and only drink. “Yeah, I think I’m going to turn in early myself.”

“Mmm, that’s probably wise,” David squints, and taps one of his silver rings against the table-top nervously. “I’ve already said goodbye to everyone, you should do a final lap…and meet me outside?”

“I can do that.”

It takes a minute to actually leave the café, still getting goodbye hugs from crew and contestants. He notes Alexis and Stevie have their eyes glued to him as he waves with both hands like an idiot before pushing through the door finally. He sits in his car for maybe 10 seconds before he gets texts first from Alexis and then Stevie.

_Alexis: Your button isn’t going to be able to get out so smoothly. x_

_Stevie: Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do._

Helpful.

It’s about three minutes later when Patrick comes nearly stumbling out of the door, shoved by what looks like one of Alexis’s skinny, bangled arms. Hmm, maybe he owed her another wrap gift. He texts “thank you” to both of them as Patrick slides into the passenger seat.

The drive to Patrick’s apartment is obviously even shorter than their walks had been. David parks and grabs his small overnight bag out of the backseat before following Patrick inside. The silence between them stretches out as they climb the stairs, and as Patrick lets them inside. It’s palpable. He should say something. There’s an overwhelming need to caveat this evening, to put up a boundary. But when Patrick steps into his space, and kisses him softly, that desire for self-preservation melts away. Let it happen. Lean into it. Be open to the vulnerability. Just be here.

\-----

There are no pretenses about tonight.

If all he had left was tonight, for the rest of his life, if this was all he got of David Rose, Patrick wanted to make the most of it. Wanted to thoroughly enjoy every second. Let there be no regrets when he looked back on this in a week or a year. He was going to be bold and listen to his desire.

“I, um,” David starts to say, vaguely indicating the bag in his hand.

“Don’t,” Patrick says softly, “just spend the night with me.”

“Okay.”

Their lips meet again, a little more urgently, and Patrick dimly registers the soft thump of David’s bag hitting the floor.

“What do you want?” David asks just as he had done before.

And Patrick knows what he wants, it’s been playing in his mind and in his dreams for weeks. He wants to bury himself in David all night.

“You,” he sighs, licking a trail to that spot below David’s ear that made his fingers curl. Yes.

“Specifically?” David exhales.

“I want to be inside of you,” it’s easier to say, easier to ask for while sucking at David’s neck instead of looking him in the eyes.

“Yes,” David pants. “Fuck, yes.”

They take their time, exploring each other’s bodies with their hands and after they start stripping clothes off, mouths too. They move slowly to the bed and Patrick revels in the way David keens up underneath him as they grind together. He’s so thankful his mind is clear enough to log how David smells, spicy and sweet and heady. There’s something like possessive pride in David’s features when Patrick uncaps the artisanal lube and begins working at his tight ring of muscle.

“I want you,” David whispers reverently into his ear, shifting his leg to give Patrick better access to his cock and his hole. The voice is so soft, like a prayer, like a breeze warming him and inviting him. And when Patrick finally dons a condom and enters David fully it’s like coming home after a long day. It just all clicks into place. David is hot and tight, and Patrick loses his mind, wrapped up in his arms, thrusting, chasing, pulling David with him. It’s all radiant energy and light and eventually he comes, dick buried in David’s ass, mouth biting a mark into David’s collarbone, hand pumping David’s cock in time. He comes just milliseconds before David does so they pant and moan and cling together while they return to earth.

They clean up and raid Patrick’s fridge, and fall into each other over and over again until they can’t keep their eyes open any longer. And Patrick clings to the feel of David laying next to him in his bed, softly snoring already. He drinks all of it in, holding on to every detail that just feels so, so right, until he falls asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CONTESTANTS  
> Patrick Brewer – Schitt’s Creek, Ontario (Business consultant, townie)*  
>  ~~Samantha Brown – Lethbridge, Alberta (Mom of three, barrister)~~  
>  ~~Kesha Carmack – Whitehorse, Yukon (Indigenous woman, works at the natural history museum in town)~~  
>  ~~Elie Gagnon – Montreal, Quebec (Will pretend to only speak French to people she doesn’t like)~~  
>  ~~Hannah Hamilton – Gander, Newfoundland (Black woman, school administrator)~~  
>  ~~Bonnie McMurray – Letterkenny, Ontario (Rural kid, bartender)~~  
>  ~~Dustin Robertson – Vancouver, British Columbia (Retired accountant)~~  
>  ~~John Smith – Prince Albert, Saskatchewan (Retired school teacher, gay as a lark)~~  
>  ~~Fred Tupper – Egg Island, Manitoba (Uni student, social work major)~~  
>  ~~Sarah Wilson – Toronto, Ontario (Just out of college, trying to figure her life out)~~


	10. Post-Production

**THE MORNING AFTER**

David woke up slowly, comforted by the all-enveloping warmth around him. Something smelled fresh, and sweet…wait, and savory. Something definitely smelled like pancakes and sausages and eggs.

God he could so easily get used to this. Waking up after an absolutely heavenly sleep because he was so thoroughly shagged into the mattress the night before. And then to be greeted by an amazing freshly made breakfast? Perfection.

Patrick is a vision, standing at the stove in his lounge pants, shirtless, but apparently wearing his show apron for safety. David takes a minute to enjoy it, and also fluffs his hair and rubs the sleep out of his eyes before he pulls back the covers and slips to the kitchen.

“G’morning,” he whispers into the skin of Patrick’s bare shoulder. "This looks amazing."

“Hey,” Patrick keeps one eye on the eggs as he turns slightly, bumping his cheek into David’s. “I actually don’t know if you keep kosher, so these are turkey sausages.”

“Oh,” David stands, smacked by the realization that not only was Patrick considerate, but had planned ahead.

“Is that okay?” Patrick turns more fully toward him. “I know not everyone likes them, but…”

“No!” David protests. “No, I mean, yes that’s great. I, um…thank you. I don’t actually…keep kosher, unless I’m eating with my dad. Not that he really does either! I’m not sure why, but it’s selective.” Oh, God he was rambling. What did he have to be nervous about?!

“Sure, no, I get it,” Patrick rescues him. “I’ve never seen you order a BLT or anything, so I didn’t know... There’s coffee ready, if you want it. I’m afraid it’s only drip, the show didn’t provide us with espresso machines or even one of those Keurig-things. Otherwise I would have tried my hand at making you a cappuccino.”

“Yeah…” David should shut up now. As soon as he’s fed, he’ll have more brainpower. Sure. “In the interest of full disclosure, I also don’t usually order cappuccinos.”

“Oh!” The slightly pained look on Patrick’s face is too precious.

“Yeah, caramel macchiatos are my go-to…with skim milk and…um, two sugars if I’ve been working out, zero cal sweeteners if I haven’t, and a sprinkle of coco powder.”

“Oh…that’s…good to know, I guess. I wish you would have told me sooner. I wouldn’t have had Gladys make you all those cappuccinos.” Patrick laughs gently but it doesn’t feel genuine.

“Mmm, that was very nice of you to bring me those.” Ugh, gift horse, mouth, all that. Why is he so awkward about this?

“How long do I hav- I mean,” Patrick stammers, flipping the eggs onto plates. “When do you need to leave?”

“We have an hour or so,” David rubs a soothing hand down his bare back, fingers teasing at the waistband of his pants, ignoring what he thinks Patrick meant to say.

_How long do I have you?_

It's not a question he wants to dwell on. David likes Patrick. A lot. A lot, a lot. But they live in different worlds, and this was just a show-mance like Alexis said, and David needs a job and direction in life. With his parents moving back to the L.A. house for a bit, he’ll be able to figure things out in Toronto while he does the finishing bits for GCBS. And then something else will come along. Maybe New York is more forgiving after some time away.

They sit and eat, and Patrick goes down on David when they shower together, and then David reciprocates by introducing Patrick to the thrill of having your hole played with. And then they dress and stand in each other’s spaces, clinging to the last few seconds they have here together.

“David,” Patrick whispers gripping David's hips tighter every second…and there’s a plea in there for…something. Something more.

“I know,” David swallows, not sure that he does. It’s too much, he’s too exposed already, too susceptible to being wounded at any moment, that lingering damage from past lovers festering in his chest. So, he builds his wall back up, brick by brick, and kisses Patrick softly one last time. “Goodbye, Patrick.”

“Goodbye, David.”

At the motel, he puts his last few things in his suitcase and taps on the door connecting his room to Alexis’s. Her room is…still in a bit of disarray. That’s being generous. It’s like a tornado hit indoors.

“Alexis, what the fuck are you doing?” The fact that she didn’t share even a shred of his anxiety about being places on time was _so_ annoying.

“Shut _up_ David, I’m working on it! I swear my little suity-cases shrunk!” To her credit she is sitting in the middle of it all and it looks like she might actually be folding things.

“I’m leaving by 2pm with or without you, I want to be back in the city for dinner.” It’s an empty threat but whatever.

“Oooo can we order from that Korean place? The one that’s by like, city hall?”

Why was she a mind reader? “Ugh, I guess,” he says faking disinterest. “I’m going to say goodbye to Stevie. Be outside in 60 or I’m burning whatever’s not in your suitcases.”

"Ugh, David!" she shouts at his retreating back.

Almost as soon as David opens the door to the office, Stevie jumps off her chair and rounds the desk to envelop him in a bear hug. Her tiny arms are surprisingly strong, holding him close, pouring out what she can’t say with words, and what he doesn’t want to say out loud anyway. They had a special connection, and they both knew it. That was enough.

“I’m going to miss you so much,” he whispers against her hair in spite of himself.

“Ugh, gross,” she pushes off him, but surreptitiously wipes her eye with her sleeve. “What about Patrick?” she asks looking at him sideways.

“What _about_ Patrick?”

“What are you guys gonna do?”

“About what?” he picks imaginary lint off his sleeve, adding bricks to his emotional wall.

“David…”

“What?!”

“Why are you being intentionally obtuse?” her voice has more than a little tinge of indignation in it now.

“Because I don’t know what you’re talking about!”

“David!” her full-on exasperation comes through loud and clear and it’s infuriating.

“What?!”

“ _David_ ,” her voice is quieter but there’s still barbs at the edges.

“Stevie, I’ve known him for a _month_!” David is absolutely shrieking, hackles fully up.

“So?! You’ve known _me_ for a month, and I’m already planning on coming to see you next weekend. What’s the problem?”

“That’s because we’re going to the boozy night at the Gardiner and we both lead very sad lives. It’s different.”

“Look, I’m just saying that I saw you two together for weeks, and if I had a guy looking at me like that all the time…I would not be leaving his bed, like, ever.”

“Yes, well, if a multitude of past experiences have taught me anything it’s to walk away wanting more rather than stay too long and watch it crumble apart.” His wall is teetering, cracking. The lump in his throat is threatening to close off all oxygen and he needs to get out of here now. 

“Okay,” Stevie concedes softly, not even trying to hide her eyeroll. “Hug me again quick before I change my mind.”

David steps forward, arms outstretched and pulls her into his chest. It’s warm and comforting and the pang of sorrow he lets himself feel about not seeing her every day is only slightly lessened by the knowledge that she was too stubborn to lose him as a friend. That feeling was mutual.

The two-hours-and-change drive back to Toronto is almost entirely silent, which David would remark on if he didn’t appreciate it so much. Alexis being subdued is unnerving…but he gets it. Spending the last month in such close quarters with her had been eye-opening to how much she has changed, and how much he didn’t know about her. She was just as sad to leave that place and those people and that experience as he was.

When they pass the lewd sign for the town, Alexis rests a gentle hand on his shoulder. She squeezes him three times and it makes David suddenly feel like sobbing. He brushes off the feeling and pats her hand to get her to stop. Incorrect.

\-----

It doesn’t take Patrick more than twenty minutes to pack the rest of his things into his one suitcase. It feels weird and anticlimactic to drive back to Ray’s a few blocks away. When he arrives, Ray greets him warmly, like he hadn’t seen him around town the whole time. But then a photography client comes in and Patrick’s able to escape fairly quickly.

He leaves the cake stand trophy in the kitchen, where it logically belongs. But later that night, after he stays awake for hours staring at the ceiling, Patrick goes back downstairs to retrieve it. He makes a space on the small dresser and just stares at it for several long minutes. He won. He should feel happier than this, surely. Maybe it still hadn't really hit yet. Finally, he puts his wallet and keys on top of it and curls up in his bed, forcing sleep to overtake him.

**ONE MONTH AFTER**

David and Alexis get booked for five days of voice over sessions at the CBC studio once the episodes are all mostly edited. They go in together to get the low-down, and it feels nice to be at work again, to have a purpose. They had both been “considering their options” a little too loosely for the past few weeks.

Marie is there to help guide them, and together they watch the rough-cut of the first few episodes while they record their lines. And it almost feels like being back there.

“Wow,” Alexis says offhandedly settling back in her chair in the recording booth.

“What?” he can’t stop himself from asking, but he knows some sort of sibling jab is coming.

“Just you…and button.” He follows her gaze to the monitor playing back a section of Bread Week. Patrick and his eggs.

“Alexis, I swear to God,” he threatens hollowly. He has no end to that sentence, no fire to fight her with.

“He’s looking at you like that, and you’re looking at him right now, and you’re telling me you only fucked like, twice that whole time?”

“Sssshhhhut the fuck up,” he hisses at her. This is not the time nor the place, and Steven the sound mixer guy was looking at them sideways through the glass booth. He instantly regrets any nice thought he ever had about her.

A week later, he texts Stevie a picture of the box of pastries he had picked up at the bakery down the street from his parents’ apartment. He’s sitting and balancing it on his knees, any pretense of sharing with Alexis or moderating his intake completely out the window. Stevie texts him a photo of the broken toilet seat that is still in the wild brush across from the motel.

“Wish you were here,” she writes underneath.

Well, that’s effective at helping him lose his appetite. But the sentiment was understood. Same.

Ted comes to visit Alexis a lot. David has learned way too many intimate details of what he’s like in the morning…and evenings. It’s disgusting and David is 1,000% jealous.

\-----

Patrick goes on morning hikes regularly. Sometimes he remembers to take a picture of the sunrise over the fields to his Instagram, and sometimes he gets a notification that David "likes" one of the photos Patrick posts.

He finally decides to sign up for Bumpkin one Saturday night. He scrolls through it while watching a movie with Ray and gets discouraged with the slim pickings. There’s a younger guy named Ken that he swipes right on and they match. After messaging for a few days, they go on a perfectly nice date, hug awkwardly at the end, and drive home separately. That evening, Patrick deletes Bumpkin from his phone. 

**TWO MONTHS AFTER**

Patrick and Stevie end up having dinner together at the café once a week to go over her ownership of the motel and business strategies for running it. They sit at the counter, chatting with Twyla too, all three silently lamenting being single in a small town. Patrick doesn’t let himself get too discouraged about his prospects in love, he’s getting closer to the two of them at least. It’s nice to have people here he can actually call friends – outside of Ray.

One week he gets up the courage to ask them to go out to the Wobbly Elm with him. Stevie gives him major side-eye but eventually agrees. They play pool, and drink their beers slowly, and it’s all perfectly fine and companionable.

And then seemingly out of nowhere Stevie asks, “Have you spoken to David recently?”

The question knocks all the air out of his lungs, and he ends up putting way too much chalk on his pool cue before answering, as calmly as he can, “Uh, no.”

She has no follow up questions which feels suspicious and has him spiraling all night. After the initial weekend of gloom, he had done a good job of not dwelling, letting himself move on – or at least keep existing and functioning every day.

\------

David gets a text one Wednesday evening from Stevie, a picture of Patrick sitting at the café, presumably taken without his knowledge. His hair is a little longer, David notices, and he’s half smiling down at his plate. Seeing him again stings in a way he doesn’t want to explore while he’s packing for a trip to New York that weekend.

_Stevie: Patrick convinced Twyla to collaborate with the Pie Shack. Café Tropical officially has edible desserts!_

_David: Congratulations! Must be a boon for Marilyn too. Such big changes for a small town._

He doesn’t mean that disingenuously. It’s not a joke. He understands that something as seemingly insignificant as that could make a difference in a place like Schitt's Creek. Maybe he’d hit up Levain while he was in Manhattan. Yes, definitely. He had a list of places he wanted to go to, just as a temperature check. Just to see if he could see himself back there for good.

_Stevie: Yeah, after Christmas World fell through, we needed a win around here._

Oh.

David doesn’t have a response to that, so he just keeps packing and planning.

The short trip to New York was supposed to also help shake him out of his funk, but it was not going smoothly. Despite having an American passport he was questioned rather aggressively by TSA upon arrival. Then his usual car service was busy so he had to take a Yellow Cab - which wasn’t the end of the world, it just ended up being another thing in what turned out to be a long line of inconveniences he experienced that weekend. It was almost like New York was trying him on purpose, rejecting him.

It hits him in the middle of Columbus Circle, too many cars honking and whizzing by, that he doesn't want this. He wants to be “home,” doing something _else_ …anything else…something good, away from this. Never mind that his idea of “home” was so cloudy. It was a very strange and new feeling, this _caring_ he felt. Maybe Toronto was “home?” He had been exploring that feeling there for weeks, and it didn’t quite fit. It wasn’t quite what he needs or wants. What he needs is someplace quieter, and more spacious, with fresher air. What he needs are sunsets on a field and pie and Amish butter and...oh, shit.

He needs Patrick.

More than anything.

Before he has time to think about it, or second guess it, he’s firing off texts and circling back to his hotel room and his wall is a fine dust.

\-----

Patrick walks into the café at 5pm on the dot and finds his place at the counter like he had done every Wednesday for weeks. Stevie walks in several minutes later with a strange expression on her face.

“You okay?” he asks cautiously.

“Uh, yeah!” she says almost offended. Typical Stevie.

They order and Patrick tries to strike up a conversation like they usually do, but Stevie is visibly distracted. She keeps glancing over his shoulder so finally he turns around to see what’s so engaging. But it’s just the usual patrons – Bob and Gwen at their table by the door, Ronnie and her girlfriend in a booth, other random townies scattered around. Roland and Jocelyn walk in while he’s looking, and he nods a greeting when Roland catches his eye.

“He’s ready!” Roland calls over to him.

“Thanks a lot, Roland,” Stevie grumbles through gritted teeth.

Huh?

“What’s going on?” Patrick asks, turning back to her.

“Umm,” her distracted glances look far more guilty now. “I think there’s something you want to see…outside.”

“What?” Why did he feel like something was going on quite literally behind his back, and why did he dread finding out what it was – especially if Roland was involved.

“Just…go check on the General Store. ...God, it was supposed to be smoother than this!”

“What the hec-”

“Brewer, I swear to God,” she says threateningly, fixing him in a stare. And honestly, yeah, okay that worked. He was going. Whatever the heck was up her flannel sleeves he’d find out soon enough.

Everything looks normal outside, a little dusty, a little chilly in the shade. It would be fully autumn very soon. It’s all perfectly ordinary until he’s mere steps away from the empty General Store, and notices the door is open slightly, and there’s someone standing near the counter with their back to the windows.

The figure is tall, and wearing almost all black, and suddenly Patrick’s heart is in his throat. The creak of the door is so very loud. Was it always that loud?

David turns slowly, hands wringing in front of him, lips tucked tightly in his teeth. He’s nervousness personified, and Patrick just wants to reach out, run to him, hold him. But his feet are rooted to the spot for some strange, self-preserving reason. He should say something. Someone should be speaking.

“So, um, I think I need help with my like, business plan, or whatever,” David says finally, eyes dancing around, never lingering on one thing too long.

“You…?” Patrick falters and manages to take one more step inside, afraid of moving to quickly and David disappearing into vapor.

“Yeah, I just, um, leased this space and I have like, an idea for what I want to do with it. But like, I think I need paperwork or something? That’s just, totally not my area…do you…know about that stuff?”

The little lines creasing David’s forehead between his thick eyebrows are…magnificent. Patrick will never, ever say that out loud, but those lines make him smile.

“Mmhmm, yup. I do know about that stuff. You’ll need to incorporate first…I can show you how to fill it out…if you want.” Patrick doesn’t dare hope, but he’s doing it anyway. Thinking ahead for what it means to have David standing in this storefront, talking about doing something in this town. His heart is ready to burst through his chest.

“Yes, please,” David nods quickly. “I also, um, I also don’t think commuting from Toronto every day is going to be like, feasible…I was thinking of getting an apartment here...or something.”

“Mmm,” Patrick can’t breathe for all the hope blooming unbidden in his chest. “Yup, I know a guy who can show you some options.”

“Great,” David exhales, “that would be great.”

The smile Patrick feels creeping across his face is mirrored in David’s. He was here. Standing right here, not exactly making promises of forever, but not squashing them either. 

David was _here_. And now he was too damn far away, standing way over by the counter when Patrick was still barely two steps in the door. So Patrick closes the distance between them and doesn’t hesitate to reach up, bringing his lips up to meet David’s, pulling him down to meet his. It’s a boldness he hadn’t been sure he possessed until that moment, but with David, _oh_ , with David he felt like he was powerful. Invincible. David helped him feel that.

It’s David’s phone buzzing on the counter that breaks them apart. It’s apparently a text from Stevie, which Patrick assumes is a rude one based on the way David rolls his eyes and doesn’t read it out loud.

They decide to get dinner with her, which was probably always the plan, now that Patrick thinks about it. He spends their entire meal in a daze, besotted with having David pressed so close to him in their booth. He touches Patrick so casually and openly now that there’s no one from the show around, and all façades have been dropped. It’s like a revelation, Patrick’s heart is so very full.

He finds out through a rambling story about a taxi and butter that David had made the final decision only days ago. David didn’t go into details about the actual business part, but he was adamant and very proud of doing this all on his own, without his parents’ help. He was using only the money he got from working on GCBS to get the ball rolling. Patrick wasn’t sure how much his show salary was, but he figured if he needed it, there were small business grants available. They had time.

They _have_ time. David is _here_.

**FOUR TO FIVE MONTHS AFTER**

“Patrick!” David calls from the living room, “it’s starting! It's time!”

“Hang on, hang on, I’m getting the snacks ready,” Patrick worked as fast as he could to plate his final pastries, and he has a kind of flashback to feeling the time pressure of baking in the tent. One day he’d get over that. Probably.

“Ah! There you guys are!” Stevie shouts, pointing at the TV screen.

“You know we’re both in _every_ episode, right?” Patrick teases, sitting down next to his boyfriend.

Watching the show together felt mostly natural. Patrick was sure he was going to get sick of seeing his own face – and he was definitely going to cringe every time he heard his own voice – but he would persevere if David kept leaning into him like he was. There's also David's screen time to appreciate. And falling into bed together after Stevie left was another good tradition. If David was an even more attentive lover after the shows where Patrick didn’t do as well, Patrick didn’t say anything.

Twyla and Roland want to do a bigger watch party for the final episode, but David puts a lid on that idea, insisting it just be the two of them at home alone. And it’s not until Patrick watches David announce him as the winner and sees what everyone else saw that day (and the weeks leading up to it, if he's honest), as they embrace for so long in the middle of the field, that he understands David’s perspective. Understands wanting to keep something for themselves. 

They lounge, intertwined in each other’s spaces while the epilogue footage rolls - Bonnie, Kesha, and Elie meeting up for a party, Dustin and Hannah waving with their families around a table, Fred working away in school, Sarah baking in her parents' kitchen, Samantha holding up her daughter’s birthday cake, John and his husband eating shortbread for their anniversary. The soft piano and strings music makes Patrick’s heart clench, and he kisses the side of David’s head just as his own image comes back on the screen. It’s a slightly grainy video David took on his phone of Patrick in their brand-new store. He's stocking the cooler with his Nanaimo tarts and "tastes like love" cookies that they were then starting to offer, and now selling out of as fast as they were stocked. David’s face comes into frame next, and the Patrick on the screen kisses him soundly.

The David in his arms on the couch, turns to face him slowly, smile on his lips and Patrick kisses him softly.

Their phones might start blowing up seconds later. Their social media mentions will be a mess for weeks. They had done a good job of keeping it quiet all this time to anyone _not_ in Schitt’s Creek. But when the show asked for content for the epilogue, well, they both said it felt like the right moment to make it more public.

**ONE YEAR AFTER**

“It’s official,” Patrick’s presence is announced by the bell ringing over the door. “We’re licensed for Open Mic Night.”

“Oh,” for fuck’s sake. David doesn’t say that last part out loud. He’s still trying to accommodate his boyfriend and make compromises. It was a constant struggle, but David was managing it. So he plasters on a smile, which might turn into a grimace as soon as Patrick moves behind the counter and picks up his guitar. “What is _that_?”

“My guitar, David,” Patrick says matter-of-factly. “It’s customary for the host to open the show with a little something.”

“Oh, God,” David swallows the bile that creeps up his throat. Ugh. Awkward acoustic singing in public isn’t on-brand. God fucking damn Patrick and his button face that was impossible to say no to!

“Now, the question is, do I wear my fringed vest?” Patrick teases. “And more importantly, do I wear anything underneath it?”

Okay, that’s enough. The hot-as-fuck little jerk.

“I want the record to show that I’m only allowing this to happen in our store because I love you,” David says in half a whisper. The familiar declaration earns him a broad smile and quick peck on the lips.

“Any requests for tonight?” Patrick strums a nonsensical chord a few times. “Milli Vanilli? Menudo? Ace of Base?”

“I take it back,” David says immediately, shoving Patrick playfully toward the stock room.

“Oh, hey,” Patrick ditches his guitar behind the curtain and pulls out a cardboard box. “Gloria dropped off the new hand lotions earlier. You want to sample them now?”

“Sure,” David says casually, removing his four silver rings and lining them up on the edge of the till for safe keeping. Quality assurance was _very_ important. He dabs a little product on each knuckle and starts to smooth it out. The scent was…hmm…yeah, it was nice. Not his usual preference, but he could picture the type of person who would like it. He could sell this.

“Sorry, can you also please stock this box of cat food tins in the back for me?” Patrick dumps the box in his hands before he can protest.

Honestly, if he didn’t love Patrick so much, he would have immediately dropped the box on his foot. Instead, he just rolls his eyes and walks to the shelf in the very back of their store where the tins belonged with the other less aesthetically pleasing offerings.

What David doesn’t see, is Patrick taking out a scrap of paper and carefully tracing each of the rings onto it before replacing them on the till. He won’t know that Patrick later takes that back to the jeweler in Elm Glenn while he’s doing farm pick-ups. It’ll take a few more weeks after that for David to receive the fruits of that labor in 24 karat gold.

But tonight…tonight David will learn just how much he loves Patrick, and how loved he is in return.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the longest thing I've ever written. I had fun with this one. Thank you for reading it!! Thank you for all the comments and kudos! You're all collectively The Best.


End file.
